


We want the same things

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos based smut, Athos has a wank, Athos is Captain, Blow Jobs, Doggy Style, F/M, Jeanne has a wank!, Long lost daughter of Treville, Set post Treville death, and in a stable, and with Porthos watching, bit of anal fingering, descriptions of adult themes, female equality!, just a lot of smutty bed action!, mentions of forced sex which are avenged, napkin phallus, not historically accurate timeline, not much of a plot really!, the plot is seriously hanging on by a thread, the wife turns up!, whores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 57,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: This is a completely fictional account of an alternative, post death of Treville, point in the Musketeer story. Very loosely inspired by part of the Devil's Whore - when the female character goes on the run and dresses/acts like a man in order to escape from male brutality. The female in question makes her way to France to her father, only to arrive a month too late to meet him - back story there is that Treville made her mother pregnant when v young, she was forced to flee to England in order to have the child, the mother died after telling the girl who her father was....she is called Jeanne (pronounced 'Jan' like the French, named after her father).She has schooled herself her entire life and is an excellent horsewoman, shot and swordswoman.She becomes a valuable part of the group and accepted as one of them.There is a special chemistry between her and Athos from the start....and it grows into something more over time.





	1. 'There appears to be a naked woman in my bed!'

Athos, as Captain of the Musketeers returned in the very early hours of the morning, dawn had broken, illuminating his journey from the Palace back to the garrison.  
He was exhausted and in need of his bed; the King’s latest whim having taken him half the night to derail and quell, and he’d still had to agree to send a large party of men to investigate an allegation of an uprising in Saumur to the west.  
He’d have to organise that when he woke, and also ensure there were sufficient men remaining in the garrison; he was still convinced the rumour was a way of splitting the ranks, probably started by the Red Guard!  
Nobody was stirring in the courtyard. He climbed the wooden staircase to his quarters – far more superior than his previous barrack room; perks of being Captain – he noted that for some reason Porthos was sleeping in a chair on the covered porch outside his rooms, his feet propped up on the bench.  
He didn’t rouse as Athos passed him and entered; his deep, rumbling snore continued rhythmically as Athos unbuckled his weaponry belts and hung them neatly. He poured himself a glass of wine and swallowed most en route to his bed chamber, which was located just behind a screen towards the side of the main space.  
He stopped abruptly as he neared the screen, glanced at his bed and retreated, kicking Porthos’ feet from the bench to wake him;  
“There appears to be a naked woman in my bed……explain?” he stated in his aristocratic drawl.  
Porthos rubbed his eyes and nodded meekly at his comrade.  
He quickly explained the events which had taken place earlier in the evening whilst Athos busied himself at the palace – the woman had arrived after more than two months on the road and sea, having travelled from England, in order to find her father; her late mother had told her his name was Treville. Of course, Captain Treville had been tragically killed a month earlier unknown to her. Her wish and desire was to join the garrison in some capacity and help to fight those who had killed her father, and therefore follow in his path. She’d explained all of this over a meal before Constance had insisted on placing her in Athos’ rooms with one of the musketeers guarding her, or them, as so little was yet known about her.  
“You sure she’s naked?” Porthos queried, “Maybe we should check?” he suggested, pursing his lips. Athos waved his hand in a gesture which said, ‘be my guest’ and the pair entered the Captain’s rooms again by which time the female had rolled over in her sleep, her modesty covered by the rough, linen sheet, but enough of her lithe figure on display to make both men inhale sharply and make eye contact with each other.  
“I am exhausted Porthos, and we must leave the garrison for the west of France later today….I need sleep!” he hissed sharply due to fatigue.  
The additional noise caused the woman to rouse and become aware of her surroundings – an unfamiliar, but comfortable and clean smelling bed, a roof, stone walls, and what looked like a window casting enough of the dawn glow to show…..2 men!  
She hastily pulled the covers up high across her shoulders and tucked her limbs beneath them;  
“Gentlemen, ah, you are Porthos I think,” she recognised the taller, swarthier of the pair. “You I do not recognise, so I assume must be the Captain,” and she tried to stick her hand out of the sheet to shake his hand whilst still maintaining a grip on the cover across her chest.  
Athos regarded the hand, held as a masculine handshake rather than as a female to be kissed; he inclined his head a little:  
“Please, I fear this is possibly not the most appropriate location for formal introductions….now if you will excuse me I will go and locate a free bed; I need some sleep,” and he moved to leave, yanking a dreamily faced Porthos by the arm as he did so.  
“Oh, please…..no, I have slept enough; you should sleep here, of course….I cannot let you waste any more of your time stumbling around to locate a bed…..I should rise and make myself busy….if you could turn your backs?” the woman made to leave the bed, causing both men to sharply about turn and head for the door.  
“We will wait outside madam,” Athos uttered, closing the door across as he and Porthos departed, not before catching a fleeting glimpse of peach coloured skin behind the slatted screen.  
Athos stared at Porthos, a stare which asked a thousand questions and which Porthos knew would demand answers that he didn’t have.  
A few moments later the ‘woman’ appeared, dressed completely as if she were male – breeches of suede, a linen shirt, leather jerkin and tall brown leather boots. Her hair was neatly fastened into a long braid down her back. She carried a deep, burgundy hat.  
“Sleep well Captain,” she offered, before trotting briskly down the first flight of wooden steps and vaulting nimbly over the balustrade to the courtyard, she swiped up an apple from the table, covered in morning dew and headed towards the horses.  
Both men regarded her shapely form, quite visible beneath the fabric and cut of the masculine clothing she wore;  
“She’s Treville’s daughter,” Porthos stated, as if trying to instill a doctrine into his own head.  
Athos breathed deeply and rubbed his eyes;  
“I’m going to sleep….wake me at noon…….and watch her like a hawk,” he instructed noting the gleam in Porthos’ eye. “On second thoughts, wake up d’Artagnan and make sure he watches her….he’s married!”  
“Says the man who’s about to slide into the sheets that will still be warm from her,” Porthos quipped, eyebrows waggling.  
Athos shook his head slowly and ignored his friend. He entered his rooms again and this time made straight for his bed, removing his jacket as he strode across the room. He sat on the bed to remove his boots; stood to unfasten his leather breeches and pulled them down, leaving just his linen braies on as he thankfully slid into his bed.   
He sides of his uneven lips curled into a smile….the mattress and sheet was indeed still warm from it’s previous occupant, and had a faint aroma of femininity….if he wasn’t quite so tired he might have found himself taking advantage of the situation, but as it was he lay back and slept deeply until he was woken by Aramis at midday.


	2. Yield!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a sword fight where Jeanne establishes her significant skills with a sword to Athos!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I mention that Jeanne learned her swords skills in Italy - I will not be explaining how Jeanne ended up there, or when - but in my mind, she spent time there as a younger girl until a teen - I have no idea why she might have left...have fun coming up with your own theories!

Aramis and Athos talked as the latter washed, shaved and dressed. He explained the King’s latest whim and they discussed what was needed prior to being able to set out for Saumur. Both men pointedly refrained from mentioning ‘the female’.  
Out in the courtyard however, Jeanne was making quite an impression on the rest of the cadets…..she’d mucked out, groomed and saddled her horse and was working her way around the other stables, including oiling and polishing the leatherwork for each mount.  
She chatted amiably to anyone who approached her; quipped back at their lewd comments and generally went about her tasks with an alarming lack of regard to her evident femininity; she sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her linen sleeve, glugged down ale and hefted the saddles and barrows she used around showing a graceful strength comparable to her size.  
Athos and Aramis made their way out of the Captain’s room, pausing on the wooden stairs. Athos raised his voice to address the men:  
“I shall require a party of 20 to prepare and leave for the Loire this evening. The King has requested our assistance to quell an uprising in one of the towns. Aramis will record your names; you should be prepared to be away for at least 3 weeks. You will need a mount and to be ready to leave before sundown.”  
Aramis was surrounded by eager recruits as he made his way towards one of the tables in the courtyard carrying paper and ink.   
From her location in the stables, Jeanne made her way up to the captain’s quarters once more and knocked before entering the room.  
Athos was regarding a number of official looking documents behind his desk, his Musketeer seal within reach of his left hand; ink and quill to his right.  
“Ah, Madam, I trust that you will have recovered from your journey and be on your way whilst we are away on this mission…..I am sure that Madame d’Artagnan will assist you in any way,” then he continued in a softer tone, “I am sorry that your intention to see your father has come to nought….he was a brave and fine man……I owe him a great deal; we all do.”  
Jeanne approached the desk and paused;  
“I don’t wish to move on, Captain. I wish to remain here…..to be part of this….part of what my father helped to establish….what he died for.”  
Athos stared at her eyes; grey-blue, unfaltering and not showing the emotion he would have expected from a daughter who had recently discovered that her father had died before being able to meet him. She appeared driven and determined….he could see Treville in her!  
“Can you cook?” he asked, noting her instant fury. She marched towards the desk and placed her palms on the wood:  
“I have significantly more skill than cooking, Captain,” she hissed. She turned abruptly and swiped up one of his swords, tossing the second in his direction and making herself comfortable with the weapon.  
“You cannot be serious?” Athos stared wide eyed at her.  
“Perfectly serious…..let’s cook!” she uttered, making an initial parry towards him and forcing him to retaliate.  
“Madam, I do not fight women,” he responded irritably, tipping her blade upwards in an attempt to stall her parries.  
“Why?” she quipped, rapidly swirling her blade and knocking his sword off centre using minimal force, but exquisite skill. “Do you fear being beaten?”  
He raised his eyebrows, “ No…..but I fear being considered unchivalrous as I celebrate victory,” he punctuated his comments with a series of quick, increasingly strong parries – the strength used intensifying as he realised she was able to match them. “Who taught you to use a sword?” he panted slightly as they moved lightly around the space, sizing up their opponent and looking carefully for a slight error or moment of weakness.  
“I learned in Italy, from a master,” she trilled and delivered a flash of lightning fast parries and turns, almost blocking Athos into the wall before he twisted himself free and changed his stance into a more normal ‘fighting’ pose; closer to the ground and wider in order to improve his balance. He noticed that she also shifted her position, similarly and came at him again, a glint in her eyes and her lip clasped between her teeth as she breathed calmly and deeply.  
Her skill was impressive, even to Athos’ eye….but she was a woman and part of his breeding meant that he was finding the concept of fighting her in the way he would one of his male comrades, difficult to reconcile. She on the other hand appeared to be completely focused on her task, ignoring without a blink when she knocked over a chair as she felt with her legs for the best poise and balance.  
“And what exactly are you trying to prove?” Athos asked, advancing and trying to unarm her using a mixture of throwing her off balance and twisting her sword arm around with his swirling blade. She was far too quick and skilful though and nimbly sprang around, flipping her blade into her left hand in order to twist her body and shoulder and avoid the block.  
“I think I AM proving that I potentially have a use in this garrison…..and that cookery is possibly not the best use of my skill….although I could possibly make light work of the vegetables!” and she deftly skimmed her blade in such a way that she caught and removed a small lock of his hair which fluttered to the floorboards.  
This slightly enraged Athos, but also aroused him greatly….a woman as comely as she was, able to use a blade with skill and also intelligent enough to humour him…..what a combination! But of course he couldn’t allow her to beat him!  
“Madam, I would urge you to drop your blade….you have made your point,” he hissed, moving her towards the doorway, planning to use the smaller space to unarm her; with force if he needed to.  
“My point was to show you my skills with a sword, sir……I am not yet through,” and with that lunged at him, retreated rapidly, crouched and slipped deftly through the doorway, pulling it slightly closed and waiting a beat for him to follow and lunge back, trapping his blade slightly in the doorway. She braced her weight against the wooden balustrade and pounded her booted foot against the wooden door, sending it swinging and knocking him backwards, a resounding thud and cry of anger emanating from Athos behind it.   
He roared his way through the doorway onto the covered porch; the commotion caused the entire garrison to pause and stare open mouthed as Athos parried his way down the stairs towards the slight woman, growling and increasing in aggression, wiping blood from his lip with his linen sleeve.  
Jeanne moved backwards down the flight of stairs, her left arm up in balance, occasionally using both hands on her blade for added strength as his hits became stronger. Feeling her feet flat on the slight landing between the 2 flights of steps she jumped nimbly with a shriek onto the flat topped balustrade, delivered a high blow to Athos who swiped at her feet with his blade, a slight shake of his head and a grin, feeling that he had her in a position of defeat as she jumped up and landed on the narrow wood.  
“Madam, I say again….drop your blade!” he stated, panting, but trying to remain calm in the midst of the shouts and general jeers of the cadets and his fellow musketeers in the courtyard below.  
Aramis had stopped recording names, Porthos had even stopped eating! D’Artagnan and Constance had appeared from the kitchens and stables and all were regarding the events open mouthed.  
“Athos!” screamed Constance, “Stop it now!”  
“She started it!” he answered petulantly. “And it will stop when I finish it!”  
Jeanne had used the brief pause to consider her next move, and having glanced below her, she jumped backwards and landed on the wooden table where Porthos had been enjoying a plate of cheese and salami.   
Athos leapt over the balustrade halfway down the lower staircase and ran, roaring towards her as she leapt onto the courtyard floor. They continued a series of quite brutal parries and ripostes in the central space; their audience creating a circle around them and mainly shouting in support of Jeanne….not unnoticed by Athos…..he’d have them on extra detail later for that!  
Jeanne’s skill with her blade more than made up for her slight stature, but she was strong enough to thrust back Athos’ lunges and lighter and quicker, so more able to avoid his attacks.  
“Maybe I’ll be the one to finish it….Captain!” and she aimed a boot at his stomach as she flicked his blade out to the left above his head. However, he clasped her ankle and launched her onto her back on the courtyard, earning a resounding intake of breath and ‘Ooohhh’ from the crowd.  
“Yield madam,” he hissed as he poised his blade at her panting chest.  
“NO!” she yelled, kicking her foot upwards at his wrist, knocking the blade away enough to roll over and get back to her feet, grimacing and slightly winded, but now with increased venom in her gut. She gritted her teeth and hurled herself towards Athos, as he recovered from the kick, and was able to push him back into one of the wooden uprights. He grunted but shoved her back and off him quite savagely, wrapping his blade around hers and turning her so that she was backed into the wooden post instead, blades crossed under her neck, his superior to hers.  
“Men are stronger than women….no matter how skilled with a blade they may be!” he snarled, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek.  
Jeanne’s hand behind her felt the dagger of one of the crowd. She dropped her eyes, seductively, ensuring that Athos’ eyes remained focussed on her. She noticed a slight swallow as his gaze dropped to her full lips, “So you admit I am skilled, Captain,” she breathed, close to his ear, making him momentarily lose his focus. She sensed the moment and swiped the dagger from the scabbard, pressing the blade against Athos’ groin. “….and men will ALWAYS have a weakness that us mere women can exploit……. Yield!”  
Athos reluctantly held out and dropped his blade and the crowd began to disperse, sensing that their captain might not be in the mood to look kindly on their support of the young woman who had just beaten him; albeit through trickery.  
She returned the dagger to it’s owner and balanced on the handle of her sword, point down in the courtyard dust.  
“We were not properly introduced yesterday,” he held out his hand in a masculine handshake, “I am the captain of the garrison, Athos….and you are…..?”  
She clasped his large, firm hand in her own, “Jeanne Treville…..pleased to meet you,” she smiled widely, blowing a stray piece of her honey-gold hair upwards out of her eyes.  
He pursed his lips and grinned ruefully, “It remains to be seen as to whether I am actually pleased to meet you…..but I will admit to being mildly impressed.” He strode back towards his quarters, adjusting and retucking his loosened shirt as he did so.  
“Mildly?” Jeanne shouted, following him huffily, stomping her feet up the steps after him.  
He paused at the top of the staircase, towering above her, “Yes……mildly. Now, I need to prepare my MEN to leave this evening…..you can stay,” he growled, turning and entering his rooms, “….but don’t kick my door again!”  
Jeanne wrinkled her nose slightly and stifled the urge to perform a slight leap on the steps. She saw Constance grinning up at her from the courtyard and scampered across to her.  
“So…….welcome to the garrison!” she said to a beaming Jeanne.


	3. Stop wriggling!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saumur is located to the West of France, and the Duke mentioned is real, from history....but this is only a sort of guide, or idea of a character, there is no intention for this to reflect reality!  
> Jeanne catches up with the musketeers and ends up spending the night between Athos and Porthos!....we're not 'E' yet though!

The group of musketeers and some of the higher ranked cadets mounted up and prepared to trot out of the garrison in the evening. Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan were among the group and Constance engaged in sending her husband off with a searing embrace – she was a musketeer’s wife and understood that this entailed varied separations between them.  
Jeanne watched as Athos attached a saddle bag to his mount and swung lithely into his saddle. He gave some verbal directions to Constance and the pair of them briefly glanced over to where Jeanne was standing; she felt herself blush a little, but maintained her focus on the scene, in particular the garrison gate where she noted a youngish man wearing a grey tunic hovering and looking furtive.  
They rode out and the garrison became quiet – too quiet for a brief moment; but ‘normal’ routine continued around Jeanne, and she made her way towards Constance:  
“What can I do?” she smiled.  
Constance smiled warmly, “Well, Athos has told me not to ask you to cook! How about you go and help Edward in the stables; he said you were good with the horses earlier on,” and she indicated a young cadet with a mop of curly, reddish hair. Jeanne nodded and went towards him, slapping his shoulder and causing him to blush profusely as she bent to retrieve a rake from the dusty straw.  
Constance raised her eyebrows……she’d definitely have to keep an eye on things – it truly appeared that Jeanne had no idea of the effect she had on the men around her!  
_______  
Athos, Porthos and d’Artagnan chatted as they moved at a steady canter out of Paris to the west.  
“What are we going to do with her?” Porthos asked.  
Athos breathed deeply, “She is Treville’s daughter, I feel we do owe her some degree of compassion…..plus I think there is a story behind her that she isn’t sharing…..I’m wary of her,” he admitted.  
“After the way she whooped your arse with a sword earlier, I’m slightly wary of her too! Your lip OK?” d’Artagnan twinkled towards the older captain.  
Athos rolled his neck and narrowed his eyes beneath his hat; “My lip is fine, just a slight graze, nothing more. But….she learned her skills with a sword in Italy…..she’s good…..maybe when we return you should ask her for some lessons,” and he kicked on his mount to catch up with Aramis ahead of them as Porthos jeered and laughed at his young comrade’s blushes.  
“Is this mission one of real importance, or is it rumour?” Aramis asked as he drew level.  
Athos looked a little rueful, “To be honest Aramis, I’m not certain. If the information is accurate then there is the potential for a significant uprising……the people are unhappy, and they are blaming the King. But what I cannot understand is why they are not taking these concerns to the Duke of Sully; the chateau nearby belongs to him and surely he would be best placed to deal with it all – he’s close to the king and highly regarded…..it seems odd,” he shrugged, “But we obey the King!”  
Aramis remained thoughtful as they rode.  
________  
Back in the garrison Jeanne remained suspicious of the man in the grey tunic she had seen lurking around the gate. As she was emptying yet another barrow of used bedding from the stable she noticed the man again, but this time in discussion with a red guard who handed over a small pouch; presumably payment.  
Jeanne located Constance and reported what she had seen. Constance flew into action and sent 4 cadets out of the garrison gate. They returned a short while later with the grey tunicked youth whimpering between them.  
It took Constance only a few minutes to extract the leather pouch and the fact that he had been asked by the Red Guard to inform them when the party had left, and to give as many details as possible as to which men were left in the garrison;  
“Are they planning to attack us?” Constance asked bluntly.  
The youth shook his head, “Not you, no……they aren’t planning to attack the garrison…….but they did say there would be an attack,” he stammered.  
Constance placed her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed.  
Jeanne quickly put the details together, “They’re planning to attack the group that left….if they do it out on the road, out of Paris they can blame anyone! They could say it was the work of a group of ruffians……as long as they leave nobody alive…….”  
The women locked eyes……Constance’s husband was out there in that group; as were a good many honourable men and several young cadets on their first mission. If this had been planned by the Red Guard, which it clearly had given the detail of involving the actual King in the rumours of an uprising, then the entire group could be riding towards an ambush and slaughter.  
“We need to warn them……but everyone left here is known to the red guard, they’ll be suspicious as soon as they see any of them leave the city in that direction,” Constance voiced.  
“They don’t know me,” Jeanne stated bluntly. A nod crossed between the pair and they moved in different directions, Jeanne to dress more appropriately for travel at night, and Constance to prepare everything else she would need.  
Shortly afterwards Jeanne was being directed to a small exit in the garrison where she could mingle into the evening revelry of the adjacent inn; from there she could locate her horse which had been taken out on the premise of needing to be shod – a large scene created by Constance – her familiar shrill voice heeding nods from the red guard, they would not suspect if they knew it was at her command!  
Jeanne mounted and trotted leisurely out of the city; she didn’t raise suspicion as she’d wound her hair up beneath her hat, and riding astride, dressed as she was, resembled a local lad on his way home. She waited until the lights and smells of Paris were distant before breaking into a faster gallop.  
She controlled her horse well and varied the pace, never galloping so hard that the horse required resting for a prolonged period and therefore made good progress into the night.  
Athos’ group however had also made good progress, and with several hours head start were in the position of considering resting. They had covered a good deal of the journey and were located in a wooden area, they could hear water running nearby, and Athos knew that freshness was as good a resource as any weapon.  
“We’ll make a camp here for several hours…….arrange a fire and food, sleeping will be there,” he indicated a relatively flat section. There was a distinct chill in the air, “We’ll pool blankets and take turns on watch, at least 3 men at a time,” and he dismounted, handing his reins to one of the cadets; perks of being captain!  
As the musketeer group ate and drank Jeanne slowly caught up.  
She was careful to check her surroundings, and to ensure that she wasn’t being followed; something she had become used to on her journey from England……being wanted for murder had made her a fugitive….and there was no way she was going back to take any blame for her actions in dispatching the vile, odious creature who had attempted to take her, against her will and who as a result had received a broken neck…..but they didn’t need to know that…..not just yet.  
The men in the forest ate, drank wine and discussed the mission. Aramis and Athos voiced their concerns quietly to Porthos and d’Artagnan. Porthos was slightly aggrieved,   
“So you’re telling me we might be doing all of this for nothing? And what about the garrison in our absence……the damned Red Guard will use this as an opportunity, you just watch!” he hissed, aware that Athos had entrusted him to keep the information secret.  
D’Artagnan shook his head meekly, “We follow the orders of the King….Athos would have made a valid argument I am sure….but if his majesty says go, we go!”  
Suddenly the group was alerted by one lookout; and Jeanne spotted the fire, and the lookout!

“Take me to the captain!” came Jeanne’s clear but breathless voice. Athos was instantly alerted by the feminine sound and she rode over to him, her leg swinging across the flanks of the horse as she jumped out of the stirrups and shook her braid out as she removed her hat.  
Athos was momentarily distracted by the flush in her cheeks and shimmering glow across her skin, in the firelight she looked beautiful.  
“What the hell are you doing?” Athos barked. Jeanne however did not flinch and quickly related the events back at the garrison and the information she and Constance had acted upon.  
Athos banged his fist against his thigh, “Damn, I knew something was amiss,” he muttered.   
Jeanne related that she had not been followed or seen anything untoward on her journey thus far.   
“In that case the ambush is planned further on,” Aramis surmised, “No doubt they are waiting for us further along the road towards Saumur……what a shame they’ll have a lengthy wait!” he twinkled his brows and moustache towards the other musketeers.  
Athos nodded and allowed himself a brief smirk, “We’ll remain here until it is light then travel back towards Paris; we cannot be certain that they won’t attack us on the way back!” he considered that if he had planned this he would certainly have factored this into the details.  
“We’ll bunk down as planned for a few hours,” d’Artagnan announced, “I’ll take a watch with Remy and …….”  
“I’ll do it!” Jeanne announced, glancing towards Athos for approval.  
“Madam, you will be tired from your journey,” he stated.  
“On the contrary, I should like to eat…..I’ll change places with another in a couple of hours time,” she bluntly explained, as if it was already decided and not to be argued with.  
Athos shrugged slightly…..if she wanted to keep look out rather than sleep so be it!  
The men all pooled blankets and made a long line, huddled tightly together fully clothed meaning that rather than each man having one blanket they all managed to achieve several layers of warmth, including body warmth.  
Jeanne ate from the communal pot of stew and joined d’Artagnan to reassure him that Constance was fine, and that the information had reassured her that no attack was planned on the actual garrison.  
They carefully observed deep into the surrounding forest, the moon casting a faint, misty light across the trees. Jeanne had ceased to be afraid of the forests at night, in fact she felt safer there than in many a bed!  
“You go and wake Olivier…..dark hair, clean shaven…..he’ll take your place while you sleep, I’ll swap with Remy in a short while….go on, go….you want to be one of us don’t you!” he grinned and shivered.  
Jeanne made her way across to the line of snoring and slumbering men – all men had booted feet and heads exposed from the mass of dark woollen blankets. She located Olivier from his description – most had facial hair of some description except the baby faced Olivier! He was sleeping between Athos and Porthos, looking somewhat squashed by their large bodies sandwiching him.  
Unsure of the most effective method of rousing him alone she decided to pinch his nose, which worked instantly. “You’re to relieve me,” Jeanne whispered. He nodded and slithered from between the two musketeers, “Fine, you take my place, keep the warmth in,” he whispered.  
Jeanne considered her options, it was freezing cold now in the forest and her nose was like ice. The small space Olivier had vacated was large enough for her to slide into….probably.  
She decided that the only option was to crouch and tuck both feet into the blankets and shimmy down into the gap, she hoped she could do it quickly enough before Porthos rolled over…she’d never shift him if he did!  
Grunting slightly she slid her booted legs down between the bodies of Athos and Porthos, a few growls and changes to breathing emanating from them both, but the space seemed adequate if she moved onto her side, and it was gloriously warm, with an overwhelming scent of leather and ‘man’…..she’d slept in worse places!  
Due to her smaller stature she was able to tuck more of her head under the covers than the men, so that her head was level with their necks. She was beginning to feel quite comfortable but noticed that the buttons on Athos’ breeches were digging into her buttocks as she curled on her side with her back towards him, her chin resting on Porthos’ broad upper back. She squirmed a little to try to get the buttons into a more comfortable position,  
“Will you kindly stop wriggling,” whispered Athos’ thick, bleary voice.  
“I’m sorry, but your buttons are digging into my arse!” Jeanne quipped back – there was no point beating about the bush!  
Athos inhaled his breath sharply; he clearly hadn’t realised that the wriggling body pressed so close to him belonged to Jeanne until she spoke.  
“And if you don’t cease your squirming the buttons will be the least of your worries, madam!” he almost growled.  
Jeanne gave one final twitch of her hips and huffed, her breath directly above the collar of Porthos’ leather coat.  
“And can you not do that either or poor old Aramis in front of me’ll get the wrong idea!” rumbled Porthos’ deep, baritone.  
Jeanne tutted audibly, “Anything I actually AM allowed to do?” she hissed.  
“Yes; sleep!” Athos answered. “And don’t snore!”  
He was acutely aware of his proximity to her body, she felt very slight next to him; firm but incredibly feminine, especially with his face pressed close to the top of her honey-gold hair. He could feel her breathing become deep and regular within moments….she could sleep anywhere and in any condition – maybe she was more like a musketeer than he thought! He unconsciously realised he had adapted his own breathing in order to inhale when she did, which meant his chest pressed against her back each time. Porthos had sunk back into a deep slumber and lolled backwards, causing her sleeping body to rotate and roll a tiny amount into his, the hand resting on her thigh dropping back against his so that her knuckles grazed against his leather breeches with each new breath….which despite his request began to turn into an incredibly feminine and erotic snore on each exhalation.  
God…..sleep was impossible!  
“She’s Treville’s daughter,” he murmured in a parody of Porthos the evening before.


	4. We ALL saw it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone wakes up, the men need to wash and use the nearby stream. Porthos tries to embarrass Jeanne, but his plan backfires!

It was dawn when Jeanne awoke, finding herself sandwiched between the masculine bodies of musketeers, someone’s hand was on her thigh….not her own….that was on something made of leather with brass buttons!  
She flinched it into a fist on recognition and felt the body behind her growl as whoever it was started to wake. She remembered sliding into the sleeping space between Athos and Porthos in the night, but she was not facing the broad, leather clad shoulders of Porthos, instead it was the slighter shape of d’Artagnan, who was also yawning and stretching himself from beneath the blankets.  
Athos realised that his hand was resting on the shapely and firm thigh of Jeanne, but for a moment he was either helpless or unwilling to remove it, and to his horror he flexed his fingers into a splayed grasp before he regained control and adjusted his position, rolling back as the cadet next to him slid from beneath the covers, creating space for Athos.  
“You slept?” he enquired.  
Jeanne cleared her throat, “Yes….remarkably well in the circumstances,” she answered, hastily making to exit the blankets, having suddenly become incredibly aware of Athos and the alluring way he looked from her position lying beside and slightly lower than him. She’d never been a ‘falling in love’ kind of girl; she enjoyed the company of men – they had far more opportunities and choices than women, which invariably made them more interesting, and she enjoyed their bodies a great deal! But she realised with frustration that she was actually slightly aroused….hence why she leapt away from the situation and began to fold and roll blankets and check on her horse.  
Athos exhaled deeply as she moved away. Was it his imagination, but had he seen a brief look of desire cross her eyes before she clambered off?!  
Aramis had moved off from the camp area and returned proclaiming loudly:  
“We can wash in the stream; it’s just along this way and well hidden,” and made his way off retracing the path he’d used.  
“Refresh yourselves, men….we’ll leave in a short while,” Athos directed the statement to the group and they drifted after Aramis.   
Jeanne, occupied as she was with her horse; and pissing behind a small bush away from prying eyes came back to a deserted camp which still contained all of the equipment. She heard splashes and laughter….evidently the stream was not so far into the trees at all – and she followed the sounds.  
She located the source of the noise – quite a scene with men in various states of undress engaged in washing and themselves in the fast flowing stream. She noted Aramis in his linen braies, standing calf deep, evidently the water was cold judging by his hard, pert nipples!  
“What are we doing?” Jeanne asked, she’d assumed that the group would head back to Paris without delay.  
Athos was in the process of stripping off, his boots were on the river bank along with his leather coat and he was peeling the black linen shirt over his head revealing his broad, muscular chest swathed in dark hair; he noticed her unphased expression;  
“WE are washing…….sleeping together is good for warmth, but not the best for hygiene!” he drawled as he fixed her with his steely, smouldering gaze and unbuttoned his breeches, adding these to the pile of his discarded clothes before he strode into the river in his braies and rapidly splashed the cold (thankfully!) water across his chest, face and under his arms.  
Porthos had been undressing a little further along the river bank, and he grinned, raising his eyebrows lasciviously as he began to unfasten his breeches;  
“Of course, some of us don’t hold with those old fashioned braies,” and he winked as he dropped his pants, standing to face her, hands on his muscular waist and grinning widely in an evident attempt to embarrass her. Athos rolled his eyes and shook his head and was about to make a comment, but Jeanne advanced towards Porthos rather than run screaming.  
Jeanne took in his huge, muscled body; various scars and shot holes visible; as was the case for all of the musketeers. It added a certain additional level of masculinity to their bodies, which Jeanne enjoyed as any red blooded female would. He was certainly well endowed, even though it was a cold morning, which was undoubtedly why he was hanging limp, but there was an undeniable girth which could be worked with!  
His expression remained mischievous as she approached, but she noticed he swallowed as she came closer still….the other men had ceased their ablutions to watch the entertainment.  
“Porthos……I have washed and groomed stallions………very thoroughly…….this is going to leave me completely unmoved,” and she gestured her hand in the direction of his general nakedness. “You cannot embarrass me!”  
“Is that a bet?” Porthos quipped.  
“If I take it that means I am the winner if I embarrass you…..hmmmmm, let me check my finances,” and she turned to bend over, sliding her fingers down her boot, pulling out a coin she always kept there for emergencies. She took her time ‘locating’ it, all the while twitching her shapely posterior towards Porthos and groaning as she turned to look over her shoulder at him, her lip clasped between her teeth, “It got stuck down there,” she purred.  
D’Artagnan, Aramis and Athos barely stifled their laughter as it was abundantly clear what she was doing….as was Porthos’s undisguisable reaction.  
She turned back and waggled the coin between her fingers, “Where are you hiding yours?” she asked coquettishly, “Pay up!” she quipped, calmly focussing on his now straining erection, flicking it with her finger and thumb before sashaying away, “You can owe me Porthos!” she shouted as he made her way further along the stream the sound of raucous laughter accompanying her.  
Porthos regarded his comrades, “Did you see that?” he shouted in mock outrage as he rubbed where she’d delivered her stinging flick.  
“We ALL saw it my friend!” Aramis laughed.  
“Are you going to let her get away with that?” Porthos asked his captain.  
Athos grinned widely, his green eyes filled with mirth, “…..Yes!.....and you owe her a coin at the very least!” he laughed at his friend’s frustration, which dissolved into amusement within a few moments, and he laughed louder and harder (!) than them all at his ridicule.  
She giggled as she let the icy water wash her face, hands and removed her boots to sooth her small feet. She gave them what she considered a sufficient time to become decent before she wandered back, humming loudly to announce her arrival as she twisted and plaited her hair, fastening it with a small leather chord at the nape of her neck.  
The camp was packed away, horses ready and Porthos handed her her reins,  
“Come on you!” he grinned at her with a nod of respect.  
They travelled not in the direction of Paris, instead they veered to the North, Aramis explained that having been instructed to go to Saumur by the King they could not return without having checked for sure….the Red Guard may well have devised this plan to cause problems for the musketeers, but there was an outside chance that the uprising in Saumur could be real, and therefore they still intended to check. Instead of going direct to Saumur they would travel to Loiret and ask the Duke of Sully for his opinion and clarification; he could also provide a signed declaration which would satisfy the King.  
“It will only be an extra day travelling,” he explained, “We should be there by nightfall all being well.”  
Jeanne voiced the question which had been nagging her, “And what about me in all of this……is the captain going to at some point tell me to go back to Paris alone?”  
Aramis wrinkled his nose slightly, “No….he’d have done that already. Looks like you are stuck with us for a while!” he grinned warmly.

Further along the road to Saumur the Red Guard waited…..and waited.


	5. I'll have the chicken!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group reach the Duke of Sully's castle and are encouraged to stay the night.  
> Jeanne has to become a 'female', and the musketeers see a different side to Porthos.....but not for long!

The journey to Loiret took the rest of the day. They took a steady pace and sent look outs riding ahead, Jeanne took her turn with Porthos; an unlikely friendship developing between them, although perhaps he appreciated her dry wit and sarcasm a little more because of her attractiveness…..plus he couldn’t quite get the image of her eyes taking in the sight of his erect cock out of his head!  
They reached the Duke of Sully’s castle and were granted entry; Athos sought an audience. Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan accompanied him as they spoke about the rumours. As Athos had suspected, the Duke had no knowledge of the concerns or an uprising, but honestly advised that they should seek out first hand clarification just in case he had not been made aware of something. It was agreed that they would remain in the castle overnight, eat and sleep and then he would accompany them the following day to some of the villages to judge whether there was any truth in the information which the King had acted upon.  
A room in the main castle was allocated for the captain, the other men and musketeers were given a larger, communal space to share. The four men were exiting the main chamber in order to collect their belongings and make themselves comfortable; all having been invited to dine in the main hall that evening; when a page came scurrying towards the Duke and whispered in his ear. The Duke gave a startled snort and regarded Athos;  
“Captain, it would appear that you have a female travelling in your ranks……surely this cannot be true?” he enquired.  
Athos inclined his head a little, but answered calmly, “The information is quite true, Sir. A woman took great personal risk in order to convey to us the information regarding the possible ambush…..we permitted her to ride alongside us rather than let her risk further danger returning to Paris alone.”  
The Duke appeared to accept this information and nodded; “Then she must be made comfortable in the main castle also….can’t have her sharing with men!” he dismissed the page who scampered off to make arrangements.  
The four men returned to the others and explained the decision. Athos urged Jeanne to join him;  
“You shall be given a room in the castle; our Duke is somewhat traditional in his views and will not hear of a female sharing sleeping arrangements with a group of soldiers….obviously he doesn’t know you…..God help him at dinner…..the sight of you wearing…..that,” he indicated her trousers and shirt, “well……I’m looking forward to it!” and he gave that one sided smirk that made his eyes crinkle.  
Jeanne was slightly disturbed by the news; she felt safer with her new friends; she trusted them; and so the idea of spending the evening alone in a draughty castle bed chamber was not thrilling to her.  
He sensed her unwillingness, “I shall also be sleeping in the castle; the old Duke would consider it ill mannered to not offer the Captain of the musketeers his best treatment….anyway, you have no choice in the matter; in some circumstances I am afraid you will always be viewed as just a female who follows the orders of men…..sorry!” he looked a little sheepish and shrugged.  
Jeanne battled with her urge to make a scene; but she knew he was right; much as she wished to be treated as ‘one of them’, she knew that there were many situations when she was just a woman….but she had liked that when Athos used the phrase, he had emphasised the word ‘just’ in a way that made it sound like a compliment rather than a term of ridicule.  
She accompanied him as they followed a page into the main castle, where they were met by a male house servant and 2 female ones who regarded their charge with wide eyed amusement at her appearance. Athos noted the varied glances and stares Jeanne caused as she made her way through the various corridors and stairways of the castle; she on the other hand remained outwardly unphased. Her confidence delighted him; he had only ever met one other woman quite like her…….she reminded him of someone…..but before life had changed her into the ruthless being she had become.  
The male servant indicated an arched doorway into a small chamber, off which was a small room with a wooden door. He paused and glanced to the side to see the female maids halt outside a larger wooden doorway a very short way further along the corridor, up a flight of 6, curved stone steps, when they opened it he could see a posted, canopied bed behind it; the Duke was apparently allocating one of his finest rooms to Jeanne.   
Satisfied that he knew her location he entered his own chamber and made use of the fresh water set for him on the sideboard.  
Jeanne regarded her surroundings with something like awe…..it was a long time since she’d slept in such opulence…..but she had done in the past. She raised her eyebrows at the maids who hovered, unsure what to assist her with since her clothing was so different to their usual charges.  
“Would you like to bath, madam?” one asked, kindly. “It must have been tiring and dusty on horseback all day.”  
Jeanne considered the offer; bathing in clean, warm water would indeed be a luxury and she’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity.  
She returned the kind smile, “That would be very pleasant, thank you.”  
The other maid, obviously lower, went off to presumably start the laborious process of fetching water.  
“You are dining in the main hall this evening……erm…..the Duke will expect……or I’ll be in trouble……” and she paused, not quite knowing how to phrase her comment.  
Jeanne pre-empted her though, “He will expect a woman; not a woman you have dressed as a man?!” she grinned and pursed her mouth and shook her head.  
The maid looked a little thankful at not having had to explain, but nodded ruefully, “I can locate a suitable item of clothing madam….if you’ll permit me?”  
Jeanne recalled Athos’ words to her, “In some situations I have very little choice…..I shall be happy to wear whatever you feel is suitable,” but she shuddered at the thought of having to press herself into the confines of a corset when she was famished and longed to eat!  
She heard noises and wandered through an archway in the corner of the main chamber, it led to a second room which had a fire lit and a large wooden bathtub which was being filled with considerable haste and efficiency by a number of servants who were able to access it via a smaller doorway to the side.  
“If you’ll permit me, madam?” the maid moved to begin the process of removing her clothes; not in as familiar manner as she was used to, but her deft fingers worked their way through her fastenings and lacings and placed a long, thin linen shift over her head to cover her modesty as she awaited word that the bath was prepared.   
In very little time the second servant returned and gestured for Jeanne to follow her through, a small wooden step had been arranged and the tub draped with linen sheets, there were petals of lavender and rose strewn in the water and steam rising from it indicated it’s warmth. She allowed herself to be helped into the water and surrendered to it’s soothing comfort instantly. She lay back against the covered sides and allowed the maid to unfasten and comb through her hair as she relaxed her aching muscles in the waters dreamily.  
Her thoughts travelled back to the events of the morning; how she’d felt lying next to Athos’ large, firm body; how his hand had splayed and dug into her thigh before he’d realised and pulled it back; the firmness that she had felt beneath the leather and buttons of his trousers where her hand had been resting. She also couldn’t quite shake the image of Porthos standing naked and erect infront of her….he was certainly an impressive specimen of masculinity and her comparison of him to a stallion was really based on fact. She hummed a little as she thought about the image and surprised look on his face as she’d flicked the head of his cock….she allowed the fingers of the same hand to ripple in the water and stifled a giggle.  
Whilst she bathed the maid had sought out a suitable garment for Jeanne and after she was dried the pair of women tackled the more usual task of dressing a female; a shift, stays, which thankfully they did not fasten too tightly – mainly because her figure was enviably firm and slender anyway – and a gown of turquoise silk. The actual dress did not have many adornments, which pleased Jeanne greatly, but the cut and colour combined with her creamy skin and honey-gold hair, which was twisted lightly into a flattering but simple style was pleasing, even to Jeanne’s eye.   
“Shall the Duke be satisfied and not choke on his wine?” she laughed, and received responsive giggles and smiles from the 2 maids.  
Athos enjoyed removing his clothing and washing in warm water. He had not brought a change of clothing – he was a soldier after all, his uniform was his clothing when on a mission, but he trimmed his facial hair a little having the luxury of a small looking glass.  
The torches had been lit in the wall sconces when he left his chamber and made his way towards the main hall. He bowed to the Duke and greeted the Duchess warmly with a press of his lips to her hand and moved to sit beside his friends on one of the trestles set up perpendicular to the Duke’s table.  
His fellow musketeers nodded in recognition of his presence, the cadets had mainly seated themselves around a bench further down the room he was pleased to note, but Remy and Clemand the most experienced had joined Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan and seemed to regard Athos for acceptance. He raised his goblet towards them to be filled with wine by way of reply and they visibly relaxed.  
Jeanne felt a little self conscious walking along the darkened corridors; once again oblivious to the glances of interest she received. The general noise from within the dining hall made her freeze, her usual confidence momentarily leaving her body due to her feminine clothing. But realising that she couldn’t slump, due to her stays, she lifted her chin and moved towards the hall.  
“To the left near the front madam, that’s where the Captain is seated….you’ll be expected to join him there,” whispered the maid, whom Jeanne had discovered was called Claudine.  
Jeanne walked into the room, she received several glances, and on passing the table of cadets heard their amused sniggers – she cast them a look of such sharp ferocity that they instantly ceased. She was like a swan…..poised and calm on the surface, but paddling like mad underneath; her stomach appeared to be filled with fluttering as she made her way achingly slowly towards the trestle where she could see Porthos – his stature making him easy to spot across a crowded room. He was stripping the meat from a chicken carcass with quite an alluring manner. He paused, meat midway towards his open mouth as she approached the table.  
The rest of the group stood in various states of open mouthed awe at her appearance, sitting only once she had done so.   
“Let me close that for you Porthos,” she purred, placing her fingers beneath his chin, catching the greasy chicken juices from his beard. She sucked on each finger them innocently and loudly requested, “Bring me chicken!” to a nearby serving boy.  
The Duke and Duchess nodded in recognition of her appearance and they ate. Jeanne was slightly frustrated at the corset which restricted the amount of food she was able to consume in one mouthful; she was forced to take dainty bites. Athos noted her slight discomfort and couldn’t help but be a little amused…..but he was also incredibly aroused at the sight of her looking so feminine, especially her incredibly attractive bosom pressed against the flatness of her stays. It slightly angered him that apparently he put so much sway in appearances……but he appreciated an attractive woman as much as the next man! The next man to him being Porthos, whose behaviour was somewhat altered by Jeanne’s presence at the table – he had begun to be attentive to her; he noted when her wine needed refilling; offered her the most succulent pieces of meat; and refrained from belching! Aramis and d’Artagnan noted this also and spent a good deal of the meal nudging each other and stifling their sniggers.  
Jeanne however remained immune and apparently unaware of his attentions; she was just pleasantly surprised that she seemed to be having a rather delicious meal, and despite the fact that she couldn’t shovel down her food or wine, she was rather enjoying herself.  
At the end of the meal the Duke and Duchess retired, leaving everyone else free to retire or remain in the hall with fewer restrictions.  
Jeanne was feeling the effects of rather a lot of wine and a day on a horse….plus only having had a few hours of sleep the night before.  
“I’m tired,” she announced and moved to stand, “I have no idea where my room is!” she realised.  
Athos smirked a little at her slight blushed cheeks and unsteady stance;  
“This way,” he drawled, hooking his hand beneath her elbow…..ever the gentleman!  
He located her chamber easily and unlatched the door; candles were burning within, illuminating the canopied bed she would sleep in.  
“Thank you captain Athos,” Jeanne smiled, “I can’t wait to get out of this thing,” she knocked on the hard stomacher she was wearing without realising the effect it had on her rippling breasts above.  
Athos however noticed it all, and swallowed hard. “I shall be just along there,” he pointed vaguely to his room. “Sleep well.”  
“And I can presumably wriggle as much as I like!” she grinned, flashing him an innocent smile.  
“Indeed!” Athos groaned deeply in his chest as he tried to walk down the stairs with an erection concealed beneath his breeches.  
Jeanne was thrilled to be undressed by Claudine when she appeared, and wearing a rather beautiful creamy coloured long nightgown slipped into her wonderful, soft bed.  
In his chamber, Athos stripped off and put on the linen shirt which had been laid out for him to sleep in. His erection had not subsided greatly, if anything he was even harder knowing that she would have slipped into her bed and out of that fucking corset….and she’d be wriggling; all alone in a very large bed.  
Down in the other sleeping area, Porthos was lying flat on his back……whether his thoughts were of Jeanne’s bosom, her delicate fingers or how she’d licked the chicken juice from his chin was unknown......he was snoring like a wounded hog……normal service resumed!


	6. I challenge you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne displays some more of her skills to some of the group

The following day, Athos, Aramis and several of the cadets accompanied a group of the Duke’s men to establish that there was no shred of truth in the rumours of an uprising.  
The rest of the men, and Jeanne, spent the morning engaging in a range of challenges with the Duke’s guards. D’Artagnan gave a magnificent demonstration of his swordsmanship, Porthos tackled 4 men at the same time in hand to hand combat and eventually eyes turned towards Jeanne. Of course, she had already demonstrated her skill with a sword back at the garrison, but she had more than one trick up her sleeve.  
“The challenge is an equestrian one….who’s up for it?” Jeanne announced with a smirk.  
Several of the Duke’s guardsmen pushed their way forwards; a tall, sandy haired man with quite a dashing moustache eased his way to the front of the line and sneered, “Whatever it is, I accept the challenge……but if I win, I want a kiss from those pretty lips!”  
The whole crowd jeered and slapped his back, Jeanne rolled her eyes,  
“And if I win……my pretty lips get to kiss whatever they please!” and she purposefully dragged her gaze around the panting group. “So….mount up, ride to the tree, turn around, and speer the apple…..fastest wins,” she directed her attention towards her moustachioed challenger.  
“Which apple are we speering?” he asked, swaggering over to peer down at Jeanne’s small stature.  
“This one,” she stretched across the table to retrieve a green apple from a wooden bowl, “On your feet Porthos,” she twinkled.  
Porthos stood up and stifled a grunt as Jeanne almost climbed up him in order to place the apple on his head, whispering close to his ear, “Don’t move….stay very, very still!” as she slithered down his thigh to the ground.  
Jeanne and her challenger stood side by side, meeting each other’s eyes, D’Artagnan shouted, “GO!” and they both sprinted towards their horses.   
Jeanne was light on her feet and fast and didn’t bother using her stirrups to mount, instead she vaulted into her saddle from behind the horse, using it’s flanks to push off and was galloping towards the tree whilst her opponent was still trying to mount his, to jeers aplenty from the rest of the men.  
Jeanne knew that he was gaining on her, she had actually slowed on purpose and as they neared the tree he overtook her and cast her a sly “Hah!” on the way past.  
He reached the tree and pulled up the horse in order to turn it, but Jeanne stood in her stirrups and grasped a bough of the tree, allowing her mount to go past without her as she hung on to the branch. She gave a shrill whistle as her opponent was still struggling to turn his beast on the slippery, foliage strewn floor and dropped straight down into the saddle of her horse as it passed beneath her. She was then able to kick it into a gallop and thundered towards Porthos, pulling her dagger from her belt and levelling it only an inch or so above his head.   
She grinned at the look of terror on Porthos’ face, but as she got closer his expression changed to enjoyment as he realised she was fully in control. She stabbed the fruit onto the point of the dagger and held it aloft, standing in the stirrups as she brought her horse to a trot.  
She leapt off and landed lightly on the floor, took a bite of the apple and tossed it towards her now frustrated looking opponent, “That’s as close to my lips as you’ll get!” she quipped.  
Remembering the bet however d’Artagnan asked, “ahhh, but what do your lips desire madam?” and grinned broadly.  
“Easy,” she tossed back and went to the rear of her horse and pressed her lips to the bristly flank, “Rather kiss a horse’s arse than any of you lot!”  
Raucous laughter broke out in the yard as a result, and this is how Athos and Aramis found them.


	7. And I can dance!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day at the castle, this time Jeanne becomes the object of attention....from more than one man.  
> Athos and Jeanne engage in some bedtime activities......sadly alone!

They conveyed the news that there was indeed no uprising, and that the King had been duped into believing the news. The Duke agreed to provide a signed document swearing the allegiance of the villages which they would be able to take back to Paris.  
“Do you think the Red Guard will have given up?” d’Artagnan asked.  
“They’ll be angry….this has taken a lot of planning, they won’t be pleased that it has come to nothing so quickly and easily!” Athos voiced.  
“So, head back to Paris tomorrow, as soon as it’s light?” Porthos stated rather than asked and received confirmative nods from Athos and d’Artagnan, who was eager to get back, just in case repercussions began at the garrison.  
Jeanne sighed deeply at the recognition that she would once more be forced to wear lady’s clothing in order to dine.  
As Athos and Jeanne made their way inside the castle main building she noticed a significant amount of hustle and bustle in the corridors.  
“Gosh….castles aren’t exactly restful places are they?” she commented.  
Athos smirked, “It takes a huge number of people to create a feast….and then of course the entertainments for this evening….” He trailed off as he sensed Jeanne’s expression change.  
“What?” she queried.  
“The Duchess wishes to make a good impression on her guests; of course we were rather too late for arrangements to be made yesterday, but obviously whilst you have been having fun kissing horses she has evidently been making preparations…I’m guessing food, wine, music, dancing……” he stifled his laughter as Jeanne made an audible gasp at the third item listed, and froze, mid step at the mention of dancing.  
“Bugger!” she huffed as she reached the door to her chamber.  
Something about the way she expressed the word made him incredibly aroused, “The trauma of being female!” he twinkled as he left her and wandered into his own room, peeling off his jacket as he did so.  
Jeanne’s female maids returned to help her get ready for the evening; they insisted on another bath, and on this occasion also washed out her hair, making her dry it before the fires dressed in her clean nightgown. They gave it a more structured style, involving various pins and lengths of ribbon and fastened her more tightly into her stays. They adjusted the gown with a few stitches and Jeanne puffed a little at the whole palaver of being dressed in such a feminine manner. In the glass she could see that it gave her an incredibly attractive shape; a narrowed, curved waist and her breasts pushed into rounded clouds of creaminess above the neckline. They added a second gown over the peacock blue silk, this was split and highly decorated in silver threads so that flashes of the blue were visible beneath.  
She stood as the maids added some rouge to her cheeks and lips; not too much, just enough to give her the glow she achieved naturally after a decent ride.  
She was slightly surprised that when she went down to the dining hall on this occasion, Athos was waiting for her a little impatiently. She saw him inhale deeply and his eyes flicked up and down her full appearance, lingering somewhat at her chest and slender neck;  
“The Duke has requested that I formally introduce you,” he explained somberly and placed his arm in such a manner as to invite her to take it.  
Jeanne obliged and held her skirts with her free hand as they made their way through the busy room, full of laughter, music and general merriment.  
Athos calmly approached the large table; the Duke and Duchess were accompanied by 2 further young men, both dark haired and so like the Duke it was natural to assume they must be his sons.  
Athos waited for an acknowledgement; he seemed very comfortable there Jeanne thought, but then again he was used to working around the royal family she supposed. He lifted his arm slightly as he presented Jeanne to the Duke and Duchess. Jeanne dropped to a deep curtsey before them, thinking that it was somewhat easier to perform the action elegantly when one was rigid from the chest down due to a boned bodice!  
“And may I present my sons, Phillippe and Henri. They have been quite desireous to make your acquaintance madam,” the Duchess smiled.  
Again, Jeanne dropped a curtsey to the two young men, Henri, the older of the 2 regarding her with open desire and attraction. Jeanne gave them a sweet smile from below her lashes and tried to sigh once she was being escorted by Athos over to their table.  
She relaxed a little once she was surrounded by familiar faces; although it was difficult to be completely at ease when her clothing made it so uncomfortable; plus the men seemed to treat her differently when she was dressed in this way…..she had to ask Porthos everything at least twice as he seemed to completely loose track of what she was saying whenever she leaned over to speak to him; and when she insisted on cutting off a hunk of pork from a joint, including sawing through the bone briskly, the whole table seemed to fall silent and shuffle in their seats….she of course oblivious to the fact that the action had caused her breasts to ripple deliciously fluidly against her bodice!  
After eating, and drinking quite a substantial amount of good wine the musicians came forwards and played; which was pleasant. Servants had cleared some of the serving tables away and strewn fresh straw onto a space.   
Henri rose from his seat and approached Jeanne;  
“Madam, I would like the honour of dancing with you,” he requested in that almost ‘it isn’t a question, it’s an order’ type manner of the aristocracy.  
Jeanne winced and bit her lip, but turned back to him and accepted his hand as he lead her to the dancing area; several more couples joining them, but allowing Henri and his partner to take the lead position.  
“This’ll be good!” murmured Aramis, turning eagerly to watch.  
“Hope the poor lad’s got thick boots on!” laughed Porthos, imagining that Jeanne would be none too proficient at dancing.  
Jeanne herself would have been slumping with annoyance if her boned corset would have permitted it; instead she tried to take as deep a breath as possible and concentrate on counting out the beats of the music as the introduction began.   
It was a lively dance, one which she knew and which involved various little skips, travelling around one’s partner and swapping hands before the man lifted the female into the air and turned her as she landed in order to start again.   
Jeanne started to perform the movements lightly and efficiently in time with the music, and casting a glance over at the musketeers and cadets found them open mouthed and unable to take their eyes from her.  
She looked and was behaving completely like a woman!  
She was an excellent dancer, and far from stepping on Henri’s toes was twirled around exquisitely, her cheeks developing a rosy tinge as the music ended and the couples bowed and curtseyed.  
Henri accompanied Jeanne back to her seat and whispered at length to his mother and father once back at his own.  
“You can dance!” Porthos stated, looking perplexed and confused.  
Jeanne nodded, “Aha,” she replied briskly, busying herself with some sweet marzipan treats which had appeared.  
“But…..you wear breeches……and you sword fight….and you leap onto horses from trees?!” Porthos continued; it was almost as if his brain was trying and failing to link all these pieces of information together with the vision of her dancing in a beautiful gown.  
“….and I can also dance…..can’t you?” she asked impishly.  
Porthos looked a little affronted, “I can……I choose not to,” he added, earning him a roll of the eyes from Jeanne as well as a slight smile.  
“Well, I’m not sure you’ll get a chance to show us even if you wished to….look who’s back?” Aramis whispered indicating the Duke’s son who was making his way over to Jeanne again as the musicians finished a piece and indicated one of the longer, more processional dances, more like walking with a few turns.  
“Oh Lord…..he has clammy hands,” Jeanne mumbled, sighing.  
Athos stood beside her and took her hand moving into position in the line of couples before Henri could get to them.  
The dance began and Athos performed the movements beautifully; so light and delicate on his feet for a brawny musketeer captain. It was a good choice for him; the dance itself involved intricate shapes made by the couples, but was carried out at a slower, almost walking pace and required a serious, almost sombre expression. It offered each couple many opportunities to grasp hands and several movements were completed in very close proximity to each other, with the man’s hand resting lightly on the lady’s shoulder during one movement.  
Jeanne could feel her heartbeat becoming less controlled as she moved alongside Athos; she credited it to the tightness of her corset. The feel of his large, rough hands in hers was another matter, and she could not consider any reason for the sensation other than pure arousal on her behalf. She wasn’t blind, Athos was incredibly handsome and his overwhelming masculinity so close to her was thrilling. Each time his finger tips rested on the bare skin of her shoulder she gasped a little and as he passed closeby she could feel his breath on her neck; could smell his own musky, spicy scent; could feel his firm musculature beneath his jacket.  
Too soon the music ended and almost in a daze he returned her to her seat; having to give her a firm push on her shoulder to make her sit, such was her lack of logical thought!  
By the end of the evening, many of the cadets were slumped in a drunken manner, along with the other revellers. D’Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis were regaling each other and anyone else who would listen with stories of how they met and Jeanne was starting to feel sleepy – a combination of dancing (Henri had requested and she’d had no choice but to dance twice more with him) and good wine. Athos had drunk a decent amount of wine; but he was always able to hold his drink as long as he didn’t consume excessively. He noticed Jeanne’s nodding head and pouting mouth.  
He hauled her to her feet, feeling her rock slightly and stumble against his firm torso, her hand steadying her against his chest, slightly grazing the hairs of his chest which were visible at the neckline of his shirt. Jeanne made a small noise; amazed that they felt so soft to her touch; and allowed her hand to rest on his body without withdrawing it.   
Athos swallowed and composed himself enough to direct her in the correct direction for her chamber. It was a short route and Athos didn’t rush his steps; it was pleasant, her hand had dropped down to his side and he had grasped her hand so as not to lose her in the people who were still milling around inside the castle.  
They reached her doorway too quickly;  
“Good night Jeanne,” he said, then almost as an afterthought added, “You looked very beautiful this evening.”  
Jeanne felt a blush creep across her cheeks and neck and lowered her head. If she’d been dressed in her breeches and shirt she might have felt able to respond with some witty remark….but dressed as a rather pretty lady, with a very handsome man paying her attention, she was at a loss.  
Instead she just smiled and eventually raised her gaze to his waiting eyes. They looked dark and sensual in the flickering candle flames and she was transported back to them dancing; the touch of his fingers to hers, his breath against her neck and his masculine scent invading her nostrils.  
“Good night, captain,” she murmured before turning and unlatching her door.  
Once alone in her room she flung herself onto her bed and squeezed her legs together to relieve the ache and heat she felt there. She had been a sexual being for a long time and didn’t need a man to satisfy her; although she had allowed them to in the past; and saw no shame in it when she was in control.  
However, Claudine arrived promptly and began to undress her; Jeanne would have to wait a while before she could indulge herself!  
Within his own chamber Athos groaned deep within his chest. He was incredibly aroused, he had been all evening, and she truly had looked incredibly beautiful; no wonder the Duke’s son was so enamoured!  
He stripped off and slid under the covers of his bed, his hand roamed down towards his aching erection. He had been able to subdue his ardour the previous evening, but not tonight; he spat on his palm and wrapped it firmly around his thick shaft. Dropping his head back into the pillows he squeezed his pulsating length, encouraging more of his juices to leak from his shining slit. He smoothed the slick liquid along his shaft and growled with the sensation of his hand travelling with practised ease up and down his straining cock. He allowed his other hand to reach down and cup his heavy sack, stroking the smooth skin behind it and adding a little further pressure as he felt the rhythm building as he grasped and tugged himself to increasing pleasure. The vision of Jeanne dancing beside him, and the enviable view he had encountered of her soft, swelling breasts moving against her gown. He’d been able to gaze down at the deep, dark cleft between them and now, as his arousal grew further beneath his hand, he imagined his shining cock sliding in that space; between those firm breasts, cushioned against the soft, yielding skin. He felt himself groan further as he continued to move his hand at an increasing pace, feeling his release close. A final mental image of her raising her eyes to him in the candle lit glow outside her room sent him past the edge of control and he clenched his teeth to hold in his shout as he came in a series of hot, salty spurts across his belly and hand.  
He wiped himself with a cloth once his breathing became less frantic and growled again as he lay back hoping that his sleep would be less filled with erotic images than the previous 5 minutes had been.  
Next door, Jeanne waited until the servants had left her. She was wet between her legs and the image of Athos’ dark, almost sinister eyes was not helping to lull her into the right frame of mind to sleep. She kicked her legs out under the covers and took her hand down to press into the stickiness between her folds. She stifled a small sob in her throat as her fingers slid against her opening and up to the small nub buried within her fair thatch.  
She took her other hand to her breasts and cupped them, rolling her sensitive nipples into hard little peaks, standing pronouncedly from her creamy skin. She wished that she could reach to suck them; something that she had frequently used men for in past sexual encounters; instead she licked her fingers before returning them to twist and rub at her puckered, pink skin.  
Between her legs she had created a delicious rhythm and was twitching her hips as she slid two of her fingers deep within her silken walls, caressing herself inside, stroking languidly at a particular place that brought her to a semi frustrated paralysis. She moaned in pleasure, an image of Athos etched across her eyes, she imagined him staring at her with his dark eyes, removing his shirt and revealing that deeply haired chest she had seen when he was bathing; a chest she had now discovered felt soft; and that she now wanted to bite.  
She allowed herself to relax against her fingers and began to writhe on the bed as pleasure took over and she felt like she was starting to tumble down a soft, cushioned mountain as her release was triggered and she clenched around her hand in order to drag out the sensation.  
Once her breathing had become less frantic she resettled her nightgown and the bedcovers and sighed deeply.  
“….and the Duke’s son probably wants to marry me,” she mumbled outloud, grinning and giggling almost hysterically at the thought of her becoming a Duchess given that she’d just rubbed herself into oblivion!


	8. Our secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the Duke's sons makes some unwanted advances towards Jeanne.  
> Athos helps out and for the first time we see Jeanne as a 'helpless female'....but not for long!

Jeanne was awoken from her slumbers before dawn broke. The unpleasant sensation of a firm, masculine hand pressed across her mouth and almost blocking her nostrils and a second hand roughly pulling up her nightgown made her snap into consciousness immediately.  
She kicked her strong legs and although he was able to clasp hold of one of her ankles her continued struggling with her free leg and arms prevented him from accessing her most intimate regions. With her hands she clawed at his leering face and tried to wriggle enough to free her mouth, but her assailant had a firm grip. Flailing about she managed to knock a metal candle spike to the ground, which in the cavernous room made a quite loud sound and caused her attacker to momentarily lose his focus, allowing Jeanne to wrestle her head a little and emit a shout of "ATHOS!"  
The attacker slapped her hard across her cheek and grappled his hand back in place, now kneeling across her and pinning her to the bed as his free hand sought to capture her wrists above her head.  
It was Phillippe, the Duke's eldest son.  
"You little slut, th th th thinking th th that my brother would consider you, th th thinking that he would get first choice with you. Well I'm the eldest! I get you first!" he stammered panting his stale, foul breath in her face, which even through his hand she could smell.

Athos woke. He wasn't sure what had caused him to rouse, but as he was sitting up in his bed he heard a muffled, but clear shout in a familiar, feminine sounding voice. Jeanne!  
He pulled on his breeches and boots and was dragging his shirt over his head even as he made his way out of his chamber towards her room. Pausing outside the room briefly he heard a masculine voice, a voice which sounded filled with anger and letchery; it certainly did not sound like Jeanne was in the throes of a passionate entanglement.  
"Jeanne!?" he shouted and was rewarded with a further muffled noise from inside. On entering he briefly witnessed Phillippe leap from her and followed him briefly as he made his escape through the second chamber where her bath was located. He naturally fled down the corridors, and good riddance; but Athos was more eager to return to Jeanne.  
He stood slightly away from the bed as she panted and tried to assemble her now torn nightgown across her body. She made eye contact with him and he saw real fear behind her eyes as she struggled to regain her control.  
"Did he....hurt you at all?" Athos asked with sincere concern.  
Jeanne shook her head, "No....I just woke up and he was here.....on me.....I didn't invite him...."   
Athos crossed towards her and sat on the edge of the bed, "I didn't think for one moment that you would have. But what to do now?"  
Jeanne had begun to breath more normally and was thinking more calmly,  
"I should like to leave as soon as we can in the morning, and return to Paris.....do you have what the Kind requires?" she asked him.  
Athos nodded calmly, "Do you wish me to inform the others?" he enquired, his eyes resting on his own lap; being so close to her, sat on her bed, seeing her unbraided and dishevelled hair, and her flimsy nightgown which showed her alarming femininity was dangerous, and he didn't dare meet her gaze.  
Jeanne thought about his suggestion, "Surely they don't need to know.......there would be nothing they could do, and.....I'd feel foolish.....I....I feel foolish now, with you," she murmured.  
Athos risked finding her eyes and parted his lips, stifling a sob at her completely innocent beauty; usually so well protected and shielded within her confident and physically adept body; but now she was here and safe because he had come to her rescue, the traditional masculine and feminine roles apparent for the first time between them. It felt oddly intimate.  
She reached her hand out to him in a handshake, "Our secret?" she smiled. He managed a slight flick of his lips into a smile and accepted her hand; but instead of the handshake he twisted it and as he rose from the bed and pressed it against his lips, allowing his own to linger there a moment longer than was necessary, "Our secret," he agreed, "I'll organise our departure as soon as possible....you should try to get some more sleep."  
Jeanne shivered and glanced over towards the second chamber where her attacker had run off. "You don't think he'll come back?" she asked, there was genuine fear in her usually confident voice.  
Athos considered the options and glanced around the chamber; there was a chair and a small bench across from her bed. He didn't want to appear presumptuous, but tried to convey that he was willing to stay in his looks and body language.  
Jeanne didn't want to appear foolish or scared in front of him; she was already chastising herself for not having had her dagger beneath her pillow; but her mood upon getting into bed the previous evening had been anything but suspicious or mindful!  
"Would you mind?........" Jeanne started as Athos stated, "I could........"  
They snorted their mutual amusement, "I'll stay over here," he indicated and went to arrange the chair so that he could slouch down and prop his feet up on the bench.  
Jeanne smiled and exhaled deeply, feeling safe once more as she slid beneath the covers, "Athos?" and receiving a small "Hmm?" from him whispered, "Thank you," before she settled her head onto her pillow and closed her eyes.  
Athos glanced across at her honey coloured hair spread out across her pillow, like a halo, her features were once more soft and restful, her fingers clutching the linen coverlet and her legs wriggling a little. He smiled a little thinking about her wriggling body lying next to him in the forest, "You are most welcome," he whispered as her breath became steady and deep.


	9. I fell for you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and Jeanne make their escape.  
> The whole group make their way back to Paris.

He rested a couple of hours, dawn had broken and he could hear birdsong when he got up and stretched his body from their unusual position. Jeanne remained asleep in the same position, her nightgown had slipped down her shoulder a little revealing a smooth expanse of creamy skin. He wanted to wake her, but without causing her to relive the unpleasantries of several hours ago, so he placed his hand roughly where he assumed her hip would be beneath the covers and shook her quite briskly. She was stirring, but not fully exiting her sleep, and in a moment of weakness he grazed the back of his fingers up her shoulder, neck and cheek; rubbing his thumb across her lips slightly as they parted and she woke; a little startled to see him there, but recollection quickly visible as he withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. [Damn it Athos, keep control....you know your weakness were forceful women are concerned, he told himself.]  
"I'll go and get dressed fully, you should wake too and we can make a quicker departure," he stated.

Athos made his way down to the rest of their party shortly after leaving Jeanne's chamber. He dressed quickly and gathered his belongings to place into his saddle bag and roused the cadets first, explaining that they were to organise themselves before ensuring the horses were ready, well shod and packed in order to depart. They nodded and began to act upon the orders of their captain as Athos moved across to kick the booted feet of his fellow musketeers.  
Porthos growled and squinted, his head was banging due to the amount of wine he'd consumed the night before and he'd hoped for a leisurely start to the day to let it wear off, obviously Athos had other ideas.  
"I'd like us to leave and return to Paris as soon as possible. The Red Guard have said they won't attack the garrison in our absence, but since we didn't fall into their trap on the road they may decide to change their plans!" he announced.  
D'Artagnan nodded, he'd been concerned about something along those lines, but was thankful that they would set off swiftly.  
"I'd like to collect the signed declaration that the Duke offered and then we should depart," Athos continued. 

A short time later there was a commotion in the yard and several of the Duke's men were sent for, scurrying in the direction of the main castle rooms, several more appeared and scrutinised the group of musketeers and cadets,  
"Where is the woman?" the sandy haired youth whom she had beaten in her challenge the day before demanded in a harsh tine.  
Athos stood facing him squarely, "Jeanne was still in her chambers when I came here, I assume that she is still there. Why do you ask?"  
"Duke demands to see her," he replied before scurrying off with 5 men in tow.  
Concern flashed across Athos' face, quickly and easily spotted by Aramis;  
"What is it?" he asked, "Why would the Duke want Jeanne? You don't think that son of his is going to ask for her do you?"  
Athos shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know. But I don't feel good about it....I'll go and deal with it.....get everyone ready....be ready to leave, in fact get outside the castle walls - take our horses too and wait," he suggested, already starting to move in the direction of Jeanne's chambers.  
"What's going on?" Porthos immediately picked up on Athos' twitchy behaviour, "Is something kicking off?"  
"Just get ready!........We may need to leave in haste!" he shouted over his shoulder as he started to break into a run.  
Shrugs were shared between the men, but they followed his orders and hastily but efficiently got mounted and organised, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible as they made their way out of the castle gate and took up a position on the Paris bound road.

 

Jeanne was still dressing, in fact she had just removed her nightgown in order to pull on her breeches and shirt when she and the maids were startled by a harsh pounding on the door followed by the sharp demand of an unfamiliar voice;  
"Madam; the Duke wishes to see you immediately. I have been sent to accompany you."  
Jeanne tried to control her voice as she replied, "I am not yet dressed. Please tell the Duke I shall some time."  
The voice from beyond the door however remained stern, "You will dress quickly and accompany me to the Duke or I am under orders to bring you to him in whatever state you are in....madam."  
The maids glanced at each other and Jeanne, she motioned for her nightgown and pulled on her boots and suede breeches below it before making her way towards the door.  
"The Duke may see me like this then, " she announced and noted with a small amount of enjoyment that the sandy haired young guard couldn't quite make his eyes refrain from focussing on her neckline and her clearly visible, rounded breasts beneath....it had been cold standing waiting for her maids to dress her!  
Athos arrived at this point and quickly took in her state; she directed her head back into the chamber and on entering he noted that her belt and dagger was there. He hastily grabbed both and looped the belt through his own after deciding that there was no way it would fasten around him! He followed after Jeanne who was clearly being taken towards the Duke's personal chambers rather than the main hall. he didn't feel good about this, somewhere within him he tensed. If this was indeed as Aramis had suggested about his younger son wishing to ask for her hand surely he would have permitted her to dress first. He had a horrid suspicion that it was instead connected to the more vicious event involving his other son.

He located the room where Jeanne was being shoved, rather inelegantly and hovered out of sight, outside. He took the opportunity of glancing through the window slats and getting his bearings as to their location within the castle if a hasty exit was required. They were on the first floor, he could see Aramis on horseback and gave a sharp whistle to catch his attention.  Then he heard raised voices from within the chamber and his heart froze;  
"My son accuses you of THIS!" and there followed a sharp intake of breath from those within the chamber, "My poor boy, scarred for life no doubt; by you....no more than a common slut, who throws yourself at  men far above you and attacking them when they take up your advances!" the Duke's voice was bitter.

Within the room Jeanne was staring in disbelief at the face of Phillippe; his eyes looked almost demonic and from left to right across his forehead was a deep, bleeding gash, a further mark across each cheek.  
"What do you have to say for yourself?" the Duke demanded.  
Jeanne boldly looked at him, "What am I accused of?"  
"You did THIS!" he went to his son and pointed directly at Phillippe's facial injuries.  
"No sir, you are mistaken; he is mistaken. I did not!" she replied looking around to see if Athos or any familiar face was present.  
Athos had crept towards the room and was staring incredulously at the Duke and his son. He moved forwards;  
"When does your son say this incident took place? And where?" he asked as calmly as his voice would permit.  
Phillippe finally spoke, "She came to my chamber this morning, not less than an hour ago and attacked me in my bed with a dagger!" he spat "My bed covers are filled with blood!"  
Jeanne looked helplessly at Athos, her mouth opening and closing and shaking her head. Athos thought back to the events, he'd left her in her chamber or so he thought.....surely she wouldn't have left and done this. His fingers clasped around the small dagger which he had tucked inside his doublet.  
"Sir, I ask for a moment to talk to the woman....she is afterall in my command," Athos requested.  
"Very well, but don't let them leave the room!" commanded the Duke.  
Athos grasped Jeanne firmly by the arm and pulled her across towards the corner of the chamber, as several guards blocked the doorway,  
"What the hell...?" he hissed, but she interrupted before he continued.  
"I didn't do this. I know I have a dagger, and I was alone in my chamber....but I swear, I did not inflict these wounds upon him. If I had intended to hurt him for what he did to me I would have attacked quite a different part of his anatomy, believe me!" she whispered hurriedly.  
Athos loosened, but did not relinquish his grip on her slender arm; her words made sense to him!   
"We need to get out of here. If you didn't do it then he did it himself.....which means he's mad!" he murmured. "This could be our only chance......any good at falling?" he smirked.  
Jeanne faked a loud sob so that she could fall forwards, casting a glance through the open window as she did so and catching a glimpse of a haycart being pulled into position, but at the window further along where Athos had been earlier. "Wrong window!" she whispered before pushing herself away from him and clutching her hands together in a pleading fashion.  
Athos removed her belt from where it was looped over his own and brandished it wildly, ensuring that it caught the window casing with a couple of loud cracks. He raised his voice, "I'll teach you a lesson you wanton hussy!" and moved to grasp her arm again, this time hauling her up onto the window ledge.  
Jeanne paused briefly before she dropped down, squealing slightly as the strong arms of Porthos captured her, in a somewhat unorthodox manner. He was panting with the combined effort of moving a haycart, twice, and catching Jeanne, especially given what one of his hands had ended up grasping beneath her nightgown!  
Athos dropped down into the hay beside her, "Move it, quick!" he shouted as he rolled from the hay and was already running towards the waiting horses. Jeanne hoisted her long nightgown and vaulted onto her mount and they galloped off en masse.  
After a hectic gallop Porthos turned and shouted across, "What the hell is going on?"   
Athos shook his head and shouted back, "Too complicated, just get out of here!"  
After a long period at a gallop they slowed to a canter, and once they were satisfied they were not being followed, or at least had a decent lead, stopped to rest themselves and the horses.  
"Right, what went on back there?" Porthos asked, glancing between Jeanne and Athos. "why did you feel the need to leave via the window?"  
Athos winced; he'd made a vow to keep the events secret, but he did feel like there needed to be some explanation.  
It was Jeanne who finally spoke, "One of the Duke's sons attacked me in my bed chamber, and then this morning accused me of slashing his face....which of course I didn't, but cannot prove it...."  
Athos joined in, "the Duke was getting rather.......annoyed and I felt it better to leave!" he added.  
"You're lucky we happened to be there!" Aramis added.  
"And I'm lucky I decided to put my breeches on beneath this!" Jeanne fingered the nightgown, hoisting it up so that she could fasten it into a knot at her waist and free her legs.  
"I don't consider that very lucky from where I was standing!" Porthos grumbled wickedly.  
"We're making good time; should be back in Paris tonight if we continue like this," D'Artagnan suggested.  
As they all mounted back up and set off, Athos loitered next to Jeanne as they rode comfortably,  
"What will you do when we get back to Paris?" he asked her.  
Jeanne was a little startled by his question, "Well......I came to Paris to meet my father and share experiences and life with him.......so....I think I've certainly done a great deal of that these past few days," she replied.  
Porthos had drifted over to them at this point, "Yeah but which of those experiences was the one that stood out the most?" he winked and grinned down lasciviously at his groin.  
The musketeers rolled their eyes; Jeanne pursed her lips and grinned,  
"Hmmmmm, I'd definitely describe a couple as outstanding, " and she began to increase her pace a little, shouting over her shoulder, "and your cock has made a lasting impression on me Porthos!"  
He considered increasing his pace to join her, but on reflection decided to remain as one of the trio of unmarried men gazing at her tight buttocks pressed against her saddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote all of this once then lost it, so this version could be full or errors....it's also not as good as the first version!!!! poo!


	10. What's the significance of a napkin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, they return to Paris and all go off to have their own merriment - whores are used and Jeanne makes do with a napkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The napkin phallus thing is taken from a film called Dangerous Beauty about a courtesan!

They rode steadily and eventually saw Paris looming in the distance. It was around midnight and they as a group decided to plough on the additional couple of hours so that they could reach the garrison before dawn.  
“You got business to attend to when we get back?” Porthos asked Athos, “Or are you joining the rest of us attending to business if you know what I mean!” he leered.  
Athos raised an eyebrow at the letcherous comment but remained silent…in truth he was actually considering joining the rest of the group on their trawl of the more salacious Parisian addresses. On returning after a prolonged absence (the best part of a week was generally accepted as meeting that criteria!) most of the men sought out ale, cards and wenches….some, like Porthos liked the trio combined! Athos did not always accompany them, it gave his men time to complain about him but also he wasn’t the kind of man who required a female companion to service his needs….he usually had a level of self control. But glancing over he caught sight of Jeanne, her head tossed back in joyful laughter at something either she or one of the others had shared. Her face was so open, so casually beautiful. His gaze drifted down to her slender thighs straddling her mount….he growled deep within his chest at the thought of those same thighs…….well, not wrapped around a horse that’s for sure.  
“I’ll settle things at the garrison then join you…..at the usual place, by the river?” Athos asked, seeing his friend grin widely and slap him on his shoulder before gee’ing his horse to catch Aramis. He informed him that Athos would be accompanying them on their night time prowl and Aramis raised his hand in a flourish towards him, shouting;  
“To what do the beauties of Paris owe the honour my friend?”  
Athos grinned ruefully and shook his head.  
Jeanne noted the comment;  
“And what honour might that be?” she asked hastily, before noting the slight grimace on his face, and the sous of realisation dropped. She turned her head away rapidly and grimaced into her own shoulder.  
Athos however cleared his throat, “ He jests, of course…..I shall see you settled at the garrison…..you will sleep in my quarters, it’s the safest, the only place I can make sure no one will……..attempt anything untoward,” he shifted slightly in his saddle.  
Jeanne was a little taken aback – if she was going to sleep in his room, where would he sleep; and how would he go about his duties when his room was the basis for all meetings and the main business of the garrison.  
It was as though he read her mind and continued;  
“I shall have a bed brought in for my use, I’ll keep to the main room, you shall have use of the screened area for privacy, and of course I am sure Constance will be able to organise something suitable for your….. bathing needs,” he swallowed hard on the final two words and his eyes flicked across her lithe torso as she adjusted her reins.  
“You are most kind, Captain,” she allowed a small flicker of a smile to cross her lips…..whichever lucky beauty he bedded that night might not see that side to him she thought…..at least she hoped as much – he couldn’t be that masculine and masterful but be a weak lover….surely?!

They rode on and finally the hooves of their horses clattered on cobbles rather than the rough earth. They reached the garrison, boisterous activities still going on into the early hours, as was always the case. D’artagnan said his goodbyes and jogged off towards his rooms where Constance was already in bed, but he knew she wouldn’t mind being woken by him, regardless of the time.  
The cadets leapt down from their mounts and also gathered in the reins of the horses of their superior ‘officers’, so Aramis and Porthos hugged warmly and waited for Athos to amble across to them having given a few concise directions to one of the cadets.  
Jeanne stood watching as everyone began to drift away; she’d enjoyed being one of the ‘gang’ so to speak, but now apparently she was not welcome where they were going to. She puffed out her cheeks as she turned towards the wooden stairs, her head hung a little forlornly….everyone was out having fun, having their needs met…except her!  
The trio of musketeers noticed her as she unclipped a linen napkin from the line where it had been drying.  
“Oh well……needs must!” she muttered to herself and the stars.  
The 3 men regarded each other with bemused looks on their faces, Aramis shook his head as the other 2 pressed him further (he was usually the one who had ‘experience’ of some of the less standard methods of sexual pleasure)…..a napkin?  
They shrugged and each silently contemplated the meaning of the napkin……a napkin?   
However, on reaching the familiar (for Porthos and Aramis) and slightly familiar (for Athos) blue door of the building beside the Seine thoughts of napkins were replaced with thought of gratification and lust.  
All 3 men drank heartily and sank their teeth and lips into a bevvy of Parisian trollops. Porthos disappeared off towards the small rooms at the back with 2 ‘ladies’ first, Aramis was content to share the charms of a quartet of beauties who were draped over him in the main room as he regaled them with ‘poetry’. Athos stood for it for so long, but on the tenth verse of a particularly maudlin ode be selected a slender fair haired female and indicated that he wished her to accompany him. She did so giddily; it wasn’t often that the capitain of the garrison frequented the brothel; and she had heard from his previous conquests that he was quite a thorough and intensely pleasing lover…and tonight he was hers; even though she knew in theory it was the other way around!

Back at the garrison Jeanne made her way into Athos’ quarters. He’d offered her his bed, and she could see now that the space behind the screen did offer a small degree of privacy. She was looking around for a washing stand when there was a commotion and a young cadet appeared carrying a small bedframe which he deposited on the other side of the screen before scurrying out and muttering, “G’night.”  
The emptiness of the room; even the poor young cadet scampering off to have his fun….and here she was, lying on a bed that smelled unmistakably of Athos – his musky, leathery scent surrounding her as she flopped backwards against the covers.  
God she was horny!!   
She needed exactly the same release as they were all getting…….why couldn’t they see that? Why was it not acceptable for a female to need sexual activity but men; they could go off and enjoy it with the city’s blessing!  
She undressed; fully, and lay back under the light, linen cover. She inhaled the pillows and closed her eyes, thinking back to being curled up next to Athos, sandwiched between him and the huge bulk of Porthos….and that made her flick her thoughts back to Porthos’ impressive body, his large, erect cock standing proudly from his body…he’d be using that….possibly right now….on some female.   
GOd, she was horny!!!  
She allowed her slender fingers to travel across her neck and shoulders, dipping them down to cup her pert breasts, pinching her nipples into taut, dark tips which felt delicious when they grazed against the linen cover. Hmmmm, fresh, crisp linen was even nicer!  
She smiled and reached across to the napkin she had brought up with her. She focussed her attention on carefully turning it into a triangle shape, flipping down the corner and tightly rolling in the sides to create a fairly decent sized cock!  
GOD, she was horny!!!!!  
She allowed her eyes to close, dropped her head back into the pillows, inhaled a little more eau d’Athos and started to apply her fingers to the wetness of her slit. She stroked the juices around her entrance and used her other hand to part her lips. She applied the phallus to her hole and pressed it in, imagining it was……well….

Athos thrust deeply inside the cunt of his whore which he had been fingering liberally and expertly for some time. His cock now needed release and he pounded into her as she writhed and bit down on her lip…..he was well endowed and wasn’t in the mood for gentle love making. His pace was increasing as he mentally blotted out the woman he was filling and instead imagined those firm, slender thighs he’d seen gripping the horse earlier.   
His whore’s breathy pants and comments were distracting him;  
“Turn over,” he growled pushing back slightly to withdraw his shining cock from her warm slot.  
She obliged and felt him push her face down into the mattress as he lifted her hips and thrust inside her fully. She inhaled sharply at the intrusion; much as she was used to accepting whatever her clients gave her, this one was significantly larger and harder than most by the time they rolled under her.  
Athos found this position easier for his imagery and he could almost picture the pale skin and fair hair of the whore as……someone else. He thrust deeply and rhythmically in and out of her until he felt himself close. A tense, coiled spring felt like it was about to burst from him and with a shuddering shout he spilled deeply within her, groaning as she twitched back against him. He felt generous and reached his hand around to her thatch; located the small nub of nerves and stroked it firmly with his thumb as he remained within her.  
The noise she made was almost obscene and after a few rotating strokes she collapsed, allowing him to withdraw from her. He moved to fix his clothing – he’d only removed his trousers enough to allow access to his erection.  
“Are you going so soon?” trilled the panting female.  
He placed his lips into a thin, narrow line and casually, almost gently traced a finger across her cheek to replace a wayward curl.  
“I have other duties to attend to….which aren’t nearly as pleasurable,” he half smiled. He left enough money to cover her for the night, ensuring that she wouldn’t have to take another customer that evening and left.  
He nodded to Aramis, who was still absorbed in deep conversation with a trio of ladies; one of whom was wearing his hat; and went out into the night.  
He wondered whether Jeanne would be sound asleep upon his return.

Jeanne sighed as she felt the firm linen slide within her, she felt herself stretch around it and began to work it in and out at her preferred rhythm. Her fingers tweaked and rolled her nipples as she began to gyrate her hips into the mattress, adding to the sensation within her. She allowed her fingers to locate her small nub and simultaneously adjusted the angle of the napkin within her, hitting a spot within her that made her sob outloud. She felt herself surrendering to her own ministrations, but had lost the Athos smell. Flipping over onto all fours she continued to work the napkin cock in and out of her with increasing desperation and noise, her arse facing the ceiling, her shoulders and face entangled in the sheets.  
Her hyper sensitive nipples brushed repeatedly across the rough base of the mattress and she panted deeply as colours flashed in front of her eyes, along with an image of Athos’ brooding gaze and insistent, almost sinister eyes.  
“Fuck……Athos…….fuck,” she breathed as she collapsed, twitching as small after shocks coursed through her.  
After a few moments she withdrew the napkin and gave it a quick flick to return it to a flat, innocent looking piece of linen….she must remember not to wipe her mouth with it!  
Dragging the covers over her body she squirmed down and exhaled comfortably.

Athos knocked gently on the door of his quarters, as there was no reply he cautiously entered and saw the small bedframe; he also heard the rhythmical breaths of Jeanne – slow and deep. He knew he shouldn’t, but he dared a glance around the screen; she was clearly naked beneath the cover, every contour and curve of her body was on display despite being covered. Her hair was tousled and splayed around her face, her full lips slightly parted, her eyelids closed and dewy.  
“She’s Treville’s daughter,” he whispered, looking around the room which was so inherently linked to Treville….but it was now his; maybe it was a metaphor….or maybe he just wanted it to be!  
He inhaled and turned to attend to his own clothes….there was that napkin, discarded on the floor….hmm?  
He’d ask Constance…or more importantly he’d get D’artagnan to ask Constance what the significance was of a napkin……perhaps she’d just been hungry? He thought as he started to undress – he removed his boots, gloves and jacket, unfastened his trousers but didn’t remove them, and loosened his shirt.  
Lying on the small bed he heard Jeanne sigh and shift position behind the screen. He realised he had started to match his breathing to hers and smiled a little as he pulled a blanket across himself and was soon as deeply asleep as his room mate


	11. ....stiffness is always helpful!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The musketeers discuss 'the napkin' and possible uses for it. Athos issues D'artagnan with the task of finding out once and for all.  
> Constance is both shocked and intrigued by Jeanne's explanation....and D'artagnan feedsback his information quite eagerly!!

Athos had left a sleepy and rosy cheeked Jeanne asleep and was seated astride a wooden bench eating cheese and hunks of bread for breakfast. Aramis was opposite him:  
"And it was just on the floor?" Aramis asked through a mouthful of apple which he had carefully peeled and sliced with his dagger.  
Athos nodded without making eye contact, "Yep; just on the floor....but she definitely looked.....contented!" he thought about the flush to Jeanne's freckled cheeks and the slight curved smile on her parted lips visible on her pillow.  
Aramis shook his head absently, "Well....I don't know then.....nothing in my experience has ever involved a napkin," he continued to munch on his apple thoughtfully.  
They moved on to discuss the training of the new cadets and their progress, Athos had asked Aramis to work specifically on the accuracy of pistols with them and they talked animatedly about some of the techniques and skills he had been trying to share - thankfully not involving glass bottles with pebbles in, blindfolds or melons!  
As Athos suggested the next phase Aramis suddenly interjected:  
"Could it be she was taking some food to the room and wanted it kept secret? You know, wrap it in the napkin?"  
Athos briefly looked confused, but then realised Aramis was trying to think up reasons for 'the napkin':  
"There were no crumbs, and no aroma of food....plus she knows we are all free to eat what we like here, it is up to each of us to control our appetites," he winked, reaching for an apple himself and crunching it, skin and all.  
Aramis continued to talk about Athos' suggestion of the next phase and selecting cadets to train specifically on the use of the larger musket.  
"You see, I can imagine her using it to dry her hair, or even tie it up.....but how can that give her gratification?" Athos thought out loud.  
Now it was Aramis' turn to shift between conversations, but he nodded and shared a half shrug and facial twitch with Athos as they considered his idea:  
"I could see how a man could get pleasure from hair....certainly MORE pleasure.....but not a woman....and not with her own hair!"  
They were silent and in contemplation, Aramis trying to consider from his wide experience how a woman could potentially pleasure herself with her own hair; Athos was imagining pleasuring himself buried deep within Jeanne's honey-gold hair.  
Neither noticed that Jeanne had descended the wooden stairs, fully dressed.  
"Good morning Captain; Aramis," she nodded and smiled at both, "I trust you had a pleasurable evening, if you'll excuse me," and picked up a hunk of cheese as she made her way across to the water pump.  
They observed her naturally graceful movements and noted the said napkin tucked into the back of her breeches. On reaching the water pump she took a bucketful and immersed the piece of linen, focussing her actions on cleaning it.  
Both men pulled faces of continued confusion, meeting each others' gazes. Porthos followed their eyes:  
"So she's washing it then.......Do you reckon she rubs something with it?" he whispered in an almost guilty fashion.  
Aramis and Athos turned their heads slowly in his direction, Athos' eyebrows raised, Aramis with a more reflective consideration.  
"What exactly could she be rubbing?" Athos asked, but then immediately felt foolish....of course he knew what she could be rubbing! "Well maybe....but why use a napkin?" he added hastily.  
"Friction?" suggested Aramis absently.  
Porthos wrinkled his nose....."Surely you'd want it.....not friction?" he offered, thinking of his own needs and how a decided lack of friction was infinitely more pleasurable and expedient to his release.  
"Maybe it's for after," Aramis suggested, putting the concept of rubbing together with a logical result of that action upon himself, "Some women do that you know," he added as Porthos and Athos regarded him quizzically, "you know, produce quite a lot....sticky, " he added to clarify his suggestion further.  
All three glanced over and regarded Jeanne who had ceased cleaning and had draped the napkin over the edge of the pail while she went to the kitchen, returning promptly with a potato. They settled to watch, quite absorbed in her actions, as she chopped it and added water. She sloshed it all around with her hand and appeared to be squeezing the chopped up vegetable in her hand.  
The trio of musketeers exchanged confused glances, the question of 'What the fuck?' wordlessly spoken between them.  
D'artagnan ambled across to the stunned and thoughtful group,  
"yeah....what is it with the napkin? Have we come up with anything definitive?" he asked as he joined them regarding Jeanne as she now dipped and sloshed the napkin around in the water with the potato.  
Porthos pulled what can only be described as a face of distrust, "Maybe she's just.....disturbed," he proposed.  
"What does Constance use a napkin for?" Athos asked d'Artagnan bluntly.  
The young, married musketeer answered flippantly, "Wiping her mouth and hands!"  
Athos' stare showed barely concealed toleration, so d'artagnan continued in a more considered tone, "Well, obviously she uses them for her courses......but I can't say that she'd consider them enormously pleasurable!"  
Athos' gaze returned to a snarling thoughtfulness;  
"hmmm, it's not that or she'd have changed her bedding....and as you say, she won't get any pleasure from it....and I saw the napkin on the floor this morning.....nothing like that," he finished, taking a final bite of the apple he realised he'd been absently getting through and was now down to the core.  
Jeanne wrung the napkin out of the potato water and carefully fastened it to the drying line using wooden split pegs. She took care to make it flat and pulled it out into a pristine square on the line before wiping her hands on the back of her breeches and heading towards the stables.  
Porthos wandered over to the water pump on the pretext of filling a jug and observed the drying napkin closely before returning from his 'scouting mission' - the four heads huddled together as Porthos prepared to impart his new found knowledge;  
"Not a clue!" he stated bluntly as the other three sighed at his melodrama.  
Aramis confronted D'Artagnan, "You'll have to ask Constance," he stated.  
The others nodded and mumbled in agreement as d'artagnan protested,  
"She'll want to know why I need to know, and then she'll think I've been ogling another woman, and then....well....she'll withdraw my .....privileges!" he argued.  
"I'm Captain.....I'm giving you an order to ask her and report back," Athos nodded and the other 2 fixed him with rueful shrugs.  
D'artagnan inhaled deeply and set off to locate Constance.

Constance was in the cellar, taking stock of the wine and beer which only she had access to - even Athos had thought it a good idea for him not to have control over the key!  
She noticed the thoughtful look on her husbands face immediately;  
"What is it? A problem?" she asked briskly, folding the page in her log book back.  
"Not so much a problem, as a question.....and it is an order from Athos before you ask," he hurriedly got out.  
She nodded for him to continue,  
"OK......what might you use a napkin for?" he asked calmly.  
Constance's brow wrinkled in confusion, "Well, other than for when eating, or bleeding you mean?"  
Her husband grimaced, "It's Jeanne......that napkin.....well, she took it to her room....and Athos said she looked quite....you know......pleased this morning.....and we can't work out why or what she did with it....so he told me to ask you!"  
Constance's brows shot up in surprise - both at Athos considering her for advice or knowledge, but also, partly with consideration of exactly what Jeanne might have used a napkin for.  
"I don't know......but I'm curious.....I'll find out and let you know. Is she awake?" D'Artagnan nodded and informed her that she was in the stables and Constance nodded, her lips set into a narrow line.

 

Constance noted the linen drying on the line and went across to it. She noted the potato water in the bowl and flicked at it absently with her fingers - she knew it was used to stiffen petticoats....now why might Jeanne want her napkin stiff?  
She ambled across to the stables where Jeanne was hefting fresh bedding into a vacant stall.  
They smiled at each other;  
"I'm glad you came back with them, " Constance stated honestly as Jeanne rested against her rake.  
"Yeah, I'm glad I did too; although everyone sodding off last night was a bit frustrating!" she added, smiling to show she understood, and not wanting the married woman to feel guilty about wanting to spend time alone with her husband.  
Constance blushed slightly, "After a week away; with no female company.....well, you know, not like you...I mean....." she trailed off and Jeanne laughed openly,  
"You mean they all needed a fuck! Yes, I know.....but I assume you did too! I don't think men seem to be aware that we want and need the same thing!" and she grinned at Constance's slightly shocked and slightly relieved gaze.  
"Lord yes......they think they're the only ones who enjoy it! My first husband was ridiculous....he didn't even want me to make a sound when we....you know. At least D'Artagnan isn't like that he positively.....oh, sorry, probably sharing a little too much information!" Constance blushed and adjusted her hair.  
Jeanne on the other hand smiled warmly and openly, "I'm pleased that you enjoy everything with your husband; and does he take care to ensure you are satisfied? I hope he does, I'd like to think he does....he seems like a decent gentleman!" she twinkled her eyes mischievously.  
Constance felt herself giggling and nodding, "well, yes......he does make sure I'm......enjoying myself."  
Jeanne sighed, "Oh to have the option!" she sniggered and rolled her eyes, "I on the other hand have to......arrange things for myself! Speaking of which, " and she jumped up and headed off towards the washing line.  
Constance followed at a slower pace and caught up as she was removing the pegs and folding up the square of now crisp linen. She eyed it and Jeanne quizzically:  
"Go on....ask then," Jeanne grinned.  
Constance cleared her throat, "Alright....what is the napkin for....and why potato starch presumably it needs to be stiffened?"  
Jeanne nodded and widened her eyes at Constance's awareness that the starch in the potato water would have that effect upon the fabric, "Well......stiffness is usually helpful, isn't it?" Jeanne had unfolded the linen square as she spoke and was now refolding it, but in a very particular way, starting with 2 half folds to create a smaller square, then a corner folded down, then the edges carefully and expertly turned inwards. Constance's mouth dropped open like her mouth as she saw what Jeanne's hands were fashioning.  
Jeanne winked as she used the finished product to poke Constance playfully on the chest. Constance gasped at the firmness of it and held out her hand to marvel closer at what her female friend had created. It felt like a firm, decently sized cock, even nicely curved, like D'Artagnan's became when aroused.  
"And do you...?" Constance couldn't quite bring herself to articulate any further, but gave Jeanne a knowing look.  
Jeanne nodded, "Oh yes, it's wonderful.....plus, you get to be in control....you know, how deep, how fast, how much!  S'nice!" she winked and giggled again.  
Constance reluctantly handed the item back to Jeanne who shook it out, "And now, nobody would ever know!"  
Jeanne tossed her parting comment over her shoulder as she made her way towards her room with the cloth, "I highly recommend it for when those urges kick in!"  
Constance grinned widely and stopped one of the cadets en route to the kitchen, "Fetch me a clean napkin!" she ordered and turned towards the bowl of potato water, rolling up her sleeves.

Mid afternoon, the garrison was it's usual lively hive of activity; cadets were practising swordplay in the courtyard. Constance grabbed her husband and dragged him into their quarters, her mouth on his, tongue delving wildly as she urged his clothing off.  
D'artagnan protested, woefully, as his wife skilfully stripped him and pushed him onto the bed, "Constance.....it's the middle of the day....and anyone could walk in," he panted as she removed her own dress and boots.  
She grinned seductively, "I thought you were under orders from Captain Athos to find out what that napkin is for?" she panted, waving a crisp, clean napkin in front of her.  
D'artagnan's eyes rose, "Ahhhhh, fine then....I'm definitely on reconnaissance then!" and he flipped her over to join him on the bed.  
Constance giggled, "So you really want to know what Jeanne does with the napkin?" she purred.  
D'artagnan nodded and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. Constance straddled his hips and began to form the napkin into the shape she had seen made by Jeanne earlier and smiled widely as she saw her husband's eyes widen and his mouth mimic a fish when she brandished the finished item infront of him.  
"Are you saying that in theory I don't need to be here?" D'Artagnan grinned at his wife.  
"In theory......but way more fun if you are involved too," and she passed him the phallus as she rolled off him and parted her legs, indicating for her husband to experiment with....well, whatever he liked really!  
D'Artagnan regarded the firm, fabric cock in his hand and trailed it down his wife's body as she writhed and giggled. He kissed her deeply before sliding between her folds and pushing the napkin inside her, enjoying the sight of her head dropping backwards, lip bitten between her teeth.  
He worked a rhythm in and out of her and Constance panted dreamily at the sensation as he paid attention to her ample breasts with his skilful mouth. As he noted her hips writhing and grinding against the phallus and his hand he withdrew it and replaced it with his own straining length, bringing her to a delicious orgasm beneath him before the clenching of her inner walls around him brought about his own release of hot juices.  
Lying beside each other, trying to breathe normally they smiled and shared a kiss or three.  
"So......mission complete.....now you just have to feedback to the captain!" Constance grinned, leisurely stroking his chest.  
"Mmmmm hmmmm.....not sure it'll be a practical for him though!" he smirked.

D'artagnan rejoined the activity in the courtyard and strode across towards Athos' quarters where he usually spent the afternoons. Aramis noted D'artagnan's purposeful stride and jaunty smirk and indicated for Porthos to follow....it was like the Pied Piper as they trailed up the steps one after the other.  
"We used to knock!" Athos barked as D'Artagnan opened the door and walked straight over to Athos, seated behind his dark desk.  
"The napkin, Captain.....it seems that a woman's needs after a week in the saddle are fairly similar to ours," and he raised his eyebrows as Athos cast him a deeply hooded stare. behind him Porthos and Aramis exchanged glances.  
"If I may demonstrate," and with a flourish he withdrew a fresh napkin square from his jerkin and proceeded to fold and roll it as he'd seen Constance do. "And yes.....it works!" he added with a wink as he flourished the finished item between them all; each of his fellow musketeers sporting what he imagined was the same expression he had had when Constance had done the same.  
"Wow!.....Go Jeanne!" stated Aramis, twisting his head for a better angle.  
Athos was simultaneously shocked and aroused by the thought of Jeanne pleasuring herself in the bed just across from where he was seated using such an inventive and fairly anatomically accurate item.  
"I'm guessing the potato water thing....what?" Aramis pondered,  
"Stiffens the fabric....starch!" D'Artagnan explained, feeling like a knowledgeable sage.  
"So.....a stiff, fabric cock....and she wanks with it....well, I suggested rubbing something with it!" Porthos grinned.  
"Yeah, she'd need a tablecloth to make one comparable to you though my friend, "Aramis grinned, slapping his massive friend's shoulder in amusement as they sniggered good naturedly.  
"Mystery well and truly solved! Good work D'artagnan.....definitely work worthy of a musketeer!" Athos laughed as his young comrade shook out the napkin and bowed.


	12. And I will dare you right back!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of smutty, smut......a game of dares between a slightly drunk Athos and Jeanne leads to an interesting evening in the bath house.....a bit of Porthos thrown in for good measure.

Several weeks had passed, Jeanne had assumed a trusted and integral role within the garrison and she and Athos shared many jokes as well as their sleeping quarters, albeit in separate beds!  
If they were both awake they would often recall events of the day, and Jeanne’s wit and ability at mimicry often made Athos chuckle over the goings on between the cadets and usually Porthos.  
Each Friday evening she joined them at the inn; the men had been relatively impressed at her ability to down a glass of ale, and to down a glass of wine, and to down a glass of brandy….and they’d been even more impressed at her ability to talk complete bollocks after doing this and yet still manage to be the most interesting and entertaining thing at the inn!  
After a particularly raucous evening, during which multiple bottles of wine and brandy had been consumed, Jeanne had whispered to Athos:  
“I dare you to steal Porthos’ money purse!”   
He had initially sniggered through a slight drunken haze which had crept up on him through the warmth and his close proximity to Jeanne’s firm body next to him.  
“Deal….but I’ll have to leave quickly…..it’ll be much better if he realises it’s gone once I’ve gone too!” he drawled, shifting his seating position and already eyeing Porthos to establish his best option for swiping his friend’s money.  
Jeanne grinned and giggled as she downed the remnants of her brandy, watching as Athos strode across the where Porthos was playing cards with a group of locals. He clapped his friend on the back as the cards were being dealt out, Porthos stood and embraced his Captain, and friend, warmly, laughing at something Athos whispered and therefore not realising that the older man had slipped his money purse from his belt. Athos swiftly transferred the money bag into the crown of his hat before placing it on his head and moving towards the door, turning back to indicate for Jeanne to follow him.  
She waved a generic ‘goodbye to all’ and slightly stumbled out of the door, the cool, night air making her inhale sharply; as did Athos’s hand grasping her around the arm and propelling her away from the inn.  
Safely around the corner Athos removed his hat and displayed the money bag nestled in the crown. Jeanne applauded softly as they stumbled off in the vague direction of the garrison.  
They walked passed the bathhouse, noises emanating from within suggested it was still fairly full – probably of red guards.  
Athos began to giggle and paused:  
“You owe me a dare!” he growled, fixing a smouldering stare on Jeanne’s grey eyes; his own dark and dilated in the glowing light of the bathhouse.   
“Quite true, Captain….what is your bidding?” she asked, trying to stand erect as she said ‘Captain’, but almost stumbling backwards.  
“I dare you you go in there……and bathe!” he indicated the building.  
Jeanne, glared at his arched eyebrow as a particularly rowdy bout of laughter could be heard. She matched his stare and pulled back her shoulders before entering the bathhouse and marching past the group of shocked and naked men, heading for the more private room beyond. 46 eyes followed Jeanne, and by default of staring as she passed they also saw the Captain of the Musketeers in pursuit.  
Jeanne found that the other bath was vacant; the water looked fairly clean and the steam from it showed it was still hot. Athos had followed and closed the hinged, wooden doors on the prying eyes behind.   
“Right, stand there and look away!” Jeanne ordered and Athos, rather stunned by her boldness did just that.   
“Hold out your arms,” she ordered, and Athos saw her jacket followed by her boots appear balanced on his forearms, his gaze still directed at the wall, but a twitch of his lips ever present, especially as a pair of breeches and a linen shirt appeared next. He cleared his throat as a cotton chemise top was draped on top of the pile closely followed by a pair of short, cotton, lace trimmed pantaloons. Athos found it actually quite endearing that despite the masculine outer garments, she wore quite feminine underclothes.  
He was still pondering the idea when he heard a ‘plish’ sound and Jeanne’s sigh as she lowered herself into the pleasantly hot water in the deep, wooden bath.  
“Right; I presume you require proof, so you can turn around now,” Jeanne said. Athos twisted around and saw her bare shoulders, along with the creamy, upper mounds of her breasts above the slightly cloudy water. A smile was forming at his mouth as she regarded him with an impish grin,  
“So…..my turn again….I dare you to join me!” she purred.  
The wine and brandy, together with the steamy atmosphere and sight of Jeanne’s naked skin was already alarmingly arousing….the thought of sharing the warm water with her was certainly inviting.  
“Are you going to back out? I shall declare myself the winner if you do, Captain,” she murmured, resting an elbow on the side of the barrel.  
It was probably her use of the word ‘Captain’ that did it, and he placed her garments on a bench before removing his own boots and jacket, “Well, go on, turn around….I did for you!” he growled in his deep baritone.  
Jeanne smiled and twisted around, resting her head on her crossed arms facing away from him, which had the added effect of raising her body further out of the water; allowing him a delicious partial glimpse of her arse.  
On the other side of the wooden doors there was a commotion and a familiar voice;  
“Where is the bitch? I know she came in here!” it was Porthos and he clearly assumed that Jeanne had stolen his purse. Athos, who was down to his cotton braies by now shuffled back into the corner as Porthos burst through the doors and pulled up short on seeing Jeanne in the tub.  
“Whe…….where……….you’ve got my money!” he stuttered.  
Jeanne rose from the water and stood in the tub, standing dripping and naked in front of his wide eyed, open mouthed expression.  
In the corner of the room Athos had a similar expression but unlike Porthos could not hide the rest of his body’s reactions beneath leather trousers, and his cock hardened visibly against his thin undergarment.  
Jeanne however focussed her attention on Porthos, “And where exactly would I be hiding it?” she exclaimed, turning around slowly in the water and glancing back over her shoulder as Portos ran his eyes up and down her curvaceaous frame. “Anyway, Athos took it….he came in here after me….why don’t you look for him!” she continued.  
Porthos turned and started investigating the main bathing room as Jeanne returned to the water. Athos use the brief moment when Porthos was occupied at the other end of the second room to deposit their clothes under the bench, toss Porthos’ money pouch onto the stone floor near the door and leap into the water of Jeanne’s bath, much to her muted surprise as she felt the water level rise to accommodate his body, and as Porthos turned his head towards her, Athos dipped his head under the water, leaving just a few ripples on the surface.  
“I thought you said he came in here!” Porthos demanded.  
“He did….he was here one minute and then just…..disappeared! But I think he dropped your money bag there,” she indicated it. Porthos seemed relieved to have located his money, but his eyes still seemed wild.  
“Well…….at least I’ve got this back, you, erm……carry on with whatever,”he gestured towards the bath with his hands and backed out of the room, closing the wooden doors.  
As he left she heard him threaten the men in the other room, “Your eyes stay away! Do you hear me?”  
Athos’s head broke the surface of the water, spluttering wildly as Jeanne’s body wracked with belly laughs, and once he had regained some breath Athos joined her laughter. He positioned himself at one side of the tub, facing her, sweeping the water from his face and his hair back with his broad, splayed hand.  
Jeanne paused long enough from her laughter to recognise that she was incredibly aroused by his presence and much as she wanted to, she found herself unable to drag her eyes away from his twinkling but almost sinister gaze.  
“It’s my turn I think……I dare you to get out of this bath tub……now,” he almost breathed the final word, and Jeanne noticed that the tip of his tongue travelled across his slightly scarred lip.  
“Fine…..but bare in mind that will leave me with no choice but to issue another dare…..just for you” and she stood and levered herself out of the water, walking slowly and confidently across to the linen drying sheets hanging from the wall. She heard Athos shift his position in the water in order to maintain his view of her dripping, naked skin.  
She smiled over her shoulder at him as she took one of the rough linen cloths and seductively swept it across her shoulders and down her arms. She heard Athos inhale deeply and continued her action of sweeping the linen along each of her legs, bending each a fraction at the knee to create a sensual angle. She noticed that a slight growl emanated from the Captain when she focussed on drying the small cleft behind each of her knees.  
Satisfied that she had both dried her limbs and aroused Athos to bursting point she turned to face him square on, dragging the cloth between the cleft in her breasts, rubbing around her neck before drifting her hands and the linen down to each of her breasts. Athos was positioned against the tub, his muscular arms hooked over the side of the barrel; his previously soaked hair had begun to dry into separate curls which framed his deeply intense face, his jaw clenched and his eyebrow twitched fractionally as she focussed her attention on drying her rounded breasts, the friction of the cloth hardening her deep, rose coloured nipples into firm tips. He swallowed as she continued to move her hands and the cloth down to the triangle of golden hair between her legs.  
Below the water Athos’ cock was rock solid and becoming painful, but he daren’t dip his hand below the surface; he knew the slightest touch would make him spend…..but he was mesmerised by her…..and he desperately wanted her hands to keep travelling across her body.  
They did, and as she reached her mound she sighed deliciously and pushed the cloth, with her hand, between her legs, her eyes fluttering closed and Athos sucked in his breath, maybe he wouldn’t even need his hand!  
Just as he was drifting into a focused mental state; trying to imprint the various images of Jeanne on his mind for later he saw her approach him at the tub. His breathing was ragged, she enjoyed seeing his chest swell and deflate in an irregular pattern as she got closer; fully in control of what she was doing and enjoying that it was making him very close to losing his own.  
Close enough now, she bent gingerly forwards and pushed his stubbled chin gently, but firmly across, giving her access to his neck. Leaning in further, he moved his eyes as her nipples grazed across the damp skin of his shoulder resting on the side.   
Jeanne lowered her lips to his ear:  
“My turn……I dare you to get out of this tub right now…..and if you’re not hard you get a free dare!” she whispered and giggled as she felt him groan.  
“Alright…..stay there,” he twisted around in the tub so that when he stood it was a view of his wonderfully broad and multiply scarred back and deliciously pert arse that met her gaze rather than his raging erection.  
“I’ll have to pass on the free dare though!” he tossed over his shoulder as he put his hand out for the drying cloth she held; just fractionally out of reach.  
She allowed him a modicum of privacy as he dried and dressed himself; mainly because she was busy dressing herself, and trying vainly to supress the raging arousal that was coursing through every fibre of her.  
Finally, as he added his hat, he realised that he had sobered up substantially, and it looked like Jeanne had too – owing to the fact that she now seemed able to walk in a straight line without leaning on the wall.  
“Shall we?” he drawled, indicating the door and in a chivalrous gesture that made her gasp slightly, opened the door and ushered her through with a slight pressure of his palm on her lower back, almost grazing across her buttocks as he withdrew it once she had passed.  
They made their way through the quiet, dark streets back to the garrison.


	13. Agreed!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is smut central!  
> Both of them are horny as hell when they get back to the garrison and just get on with it!!

Back at the garrison they climbed the wooden stairs to ‘their’ quarters. Jeanne had amused Athos during the brief walk with her imitation of Porthos barging in and almost having a heart attack at the sight of her standing naked in the bath tub.  
Once in the room Jeanne went to her relatively private space behind the screen and flopped onto the large bed. She removed her boots and jacket quickly and sat as she worked more casually on her other clothing; thinking about earlier in the evening when she had removed them in the bathhouse.  
On the opposite side of the screen Athos was similarly engaged. Boots discarded and jacket hung alongside his weapons belt he unfastened the buttons on his leather trousers and dragged his linen shirt over his head. The curls at the nape of his neck were still fractionally damp from his complete submersion under the bath water, but his thoughts were very warming. He’d been thinking about the events almost non stop; a variety of revealing images forefront in his mind and as he removed his trousers his raging erection had not subdued any and was starining against his braies, painfully; so he removed those too……he was never going to be able to sleep – certainly not on his front!  
He heard Jeanne shift and sigh, a rustle of fabric made him aware that she had got beneath the sheets, and he did the same, groaning slightly as the linen brushed against the sensitive, swollen head of his cock. He lay back and looked at the ceiling.  
Jeanne lay back and looked at the ceiling. She enjoyed the feeling of her clean skin against the linen sheets; she had removed all of her clothes to feel the benefit. She wasn’t sleepy, she kept picturing Athos’ wide, wet body standing with her back to her as he got out of the bath tub; she was picturing the way his tongue had dragged across his lips after daring her to get out first, and how she could almost see him stiffen as she dried herself…the sensation of the rough linen against her nipples brought back a delicious feeling between her legs and she twisted her hips against the mattress.  
“Are you asleep?” Athos’ deep, rumble drifted across the room.  
Jeanne smiled, “Noooo; can’t think why?”  
Athos sucked in his breath, “I think we both know why we can’t sleep……have you got a handy napkin?” he chuckled, especially as he heard Jeanne’s guffaw.  
“Ehem….well, yes, my trusty napkin might indeed help shift this……inability to sleep,” she retorted.   
“Well……it appears we need the same thing…” he trailed off, his breath catching in his chest slightly.  
Jeanne focussed on the word ‘need’ in his statement, “So…..there would appear to be a couple of solutions to this...” she trailed off.  
“….I have my hand, you have……an alternative,” Athos growled, huskily.  
“Mmm hmm, yes, that’s one possible solution,” Jeanne shifted slightly under the covers.  
“Or…..” the masculine voice had suddenly become even deeper.  
Jeanne felt herself shudder involuntarily, “Or?” she gasped back.  
“Or…..we just give in and be what the other one needs,” he breathed rapidly.  
Jeanne was almost on fire, “That does seem like an incredibly practical solution to our current situation, Captain.”  
Maybe it was her use of the word Captain, but Athos swallowed back a sob, “I am very well known for my practical abilities….and my problem solving suggestions…..so?”  
“I suppose it would be merely a logical arrangement….no need for kisses or tenderness….or even talking,” Jeanne panted, realising that she was desperately hoping that he wasn’t foolng around and getting his own back on her dares to him that evening.  
Athos’ voice seemed calm, but belied his inner turmoil….please let her not be teasing him like she had done earlier in the bathhouse, “I would imagine that all of those would merely get in the way of what we basically both want….sorry…need,” he hastily clarified.  
“so, a simple arrangement whereby you perform the role of my…….napkin?” she queried.  
Athos nodded and realised he had shifted up onto his elbows in his small bed, “Yes, exactly…..and you would replace the need for my hand……are you considering it?” his voice was like treacle and made her neck slacken.  
“Yes,” she breathed out, possibly too quickly, “I’m considering the implications of carrying out your plan…..and of not carrying it out,” she was squeezing her legs together in order to try to relieve some of the sensations she was feeling.  
“And?” he drawled, his eyebrow arching towards his unruly hair.  
“On reflection the positives appear to outweight the negatives…..so I suppose we should consider location….shall I stay and you join me, or……oh!” at this point Jeanne was startled as she heard and then felt Athos cross the distance between his small cot and the larger of the beds she occupied. He slid under the covers next to her and she gasped at the warmth radiating from his body.  
They both lay on their backs, Jeanne’s fingers clutching the sheet to cover herself to her neck, Athos fidgeting and suddenly unsure of how to act beside a woman in his bed…..it was a first!  
“So……shall I just…..erm,” and he shifted slightly beside her.  
“Maybe if we just don’t look at each other……and you can just….well……if you were my napkin you’d be in there by now, so….” And she rushed out the statement, needing relief from her arousal far more desperately than being meek and unforthcoming would permit.  
Athos swiftly moved above her, careful to focus on the pillow, although he did glance down to see her glorious breasts, and her slender legs parted for him to nestle himself against her.  
Jeanne tried to remember not to look at him; she didn’t trust herself to keep this devoid of feeling, especially if she looked into his eyes. But she inhaled him; a more subtle version of his scent owing to his recent bath, but an intoxicating mixture of leather, muskiness, lavender and brandy. She focussed herself on the view of the wall over his left shoulder, although she was slightly distracted by the feel of his large and insistent cock pressing against her mound and belly.  
“No kissing, no tenderness…..just mutual….release,” he panted, again forcing himself to fix his eyes on the pillow; although a small section of her honey-gold hair was interrupting his view and part of him longed to bury his face into her neck and lose himself in it.  
Jeanne nodded against him and felt him shift his hips, she did the same and stifled a sob as he pressed himself expertly and confidently into her warm, moist center. She felt him inhale sharply as he slid deeply inside her, not entirely surprised by her wetness, but highly surprised by his body’s response to her.  
Jeanne widened her legs to allow him to greater access and he thrust his hips even deeper, biting his lip to prevent him moaning at the sensation of her tight cunt enveloping him.  
Eyes fixed firmly on the wall he pulled back and thrust into her again, feeling her relax and stretch as he worked his length deep inside her. His firm pelvis crushed into her golden thatch and he felt her hitch her breath and twitch against him.  
Jeanne had kept her hands curled into small fists on the mattress up to this point – they’d agreed no talking, no kissing, no tenderness….but nothing had been said about touching….and she felt the need to pull him into her.  
Athos was surprised when he felt Jeanne’s small, splayed hands grasp his buttocks and press them down into her further, and gasped further when he withdrew and plunged forwards feeling her small nails dig into his firm flesh, knowing there would be red welts left there in the morning.  
His own hands had been resting against the pillow up until this point, but he suddenly felt the need to return the urgency of her hands with his own on her. He slid one arm beneath her, lifting and tilting her hips slightly and pushing her into his increasing thrusts.  
Jeanne’s breath was becoming increasingly irregular as she struggled to stop herself moaning; this was a practical solution to their need for relief, nothing more….and yet she felt completely different emotions to when she was satisfying herself with her own hands.   
Athos was in a state of rapture as he felt Jeanne undulate beneath him….this was a practical solution to their mutual need for gratification……just a logical and emotion free act…..but suddenly it wasn’t any more.  
He brought his gaze from the pillow across to her face, his eyes focussing on her parted and swollen lips as she steadfastly refused to acknowledge him; closing her eyes as he pushed close to her again, pressing his dark hairs into her pale ones where they met. He couldn’t prevent what happened next.  
He took advantage of her closed eyes and brought his mouth to hers in a firm intense kiss, sliding open her lips with the pressure of his own. Her initial shock was quickly replaced by passion and she readily forgot their agreement as she kissed him back, delving her tongue inside his mouth, exploring every contour of his lips and sucking his breath into her lungs, enjoying the taste of him. Her eagerness drove him on further and he moved the hand at her shoulder into her hair, cupping her small skull in his hand as he increased the fervour of his mouth at hers. He trailed his bruising kisses along her jaw and neck, sucking on the soft skin and inhaling her soft, feminine scent.  
“Oh God…….we said no kissing,” Jeanne panted, stretching her head back to encourage Athos to move lower on her neck.  
He took the hint and moved his mouth lower, licking his firm tongue along her shoulder and dipping down to the crease of her arm, “I’ll stop if you tell me to,” he breathed, huskily; lifting his head to meet her gaze with deeply dilated, dark and sensual eyes.  
“Tell me to stop,” he urged again, as he began to move his stubbled chin lower on her chest, grazing the soft skin of her breasts, his lower lip moistening his path. Her eyes said the exact opposite, and when he found her pearl like nipple and latched onto it she knew she would never be able to tell him to stop.  
Instead she shifted her legs to wrap around his waist, pressing her heel into the small of his back to show her need for his closeness. Her hands travelled across his broad back and found his damp hair. She gloried in the way his eyelids fluttered as she dragged her fingers through his dark curls; his tongue lapping at her nipple, his teeth tugging delicately and delicisouly at the tip.  
Jeanne arched her back up so that he could continue to fully attend to her breasts whilst she undulated against his hips. Athos was slightly overwhelmed at how perfectly Jeanne seemed to fit him – her legs pulled him close, her cunt was tight and welcoming, her muscles tensed and relaxed around him and her mouth was passionate….shit; this wasn’t practical at all!  
Jeanne was in almost complete ecstasy. Athos’ cock was amazing; firm, thick and long enough to make her feel completely full. He was clearly experienced and knew how to vary his thrusts in order to tease and tantalise her, rubbing against the sensitive parts of her both inside and just above her slit. His mouth was firm and insistent; his tongue and teeth adding the perfect amount of pressure and pain. He felt amazing.  
“You feel amazing,” Athos panted as he increased the pace of his hips against hers, his cock twitching and growing harder still as Jeanne grazed her thumb nails against his small, burgundy nipples. His mouth found hers once more and he held her firmly as he flipped them around so that she was above him, rocking against his firm stomach, her breasts trembling as she met his upward thrusts with her hips.   
“We said no talking,” Jeanne whimpered, taking her fingers to his mouth and sobbing as he sucked on them hungrily.  
“Then I’ll occupy my mouth elsewhere,” he growled, bringing her body towards him, dipping his head to continue sucking her tender and hyper sensitive nipples, engulfing as much of the soft, creamy flesh as he could into his hot, hungry mouth.  
Jeanne sobbed and bucked her hips against him as his hands grasped her buttocks , one hand sliding into the crease of her hip, his thumb reaching down to the nub of nerves hidden above the hole he was so efficiently filling.  
“Athos…….I’m going to cu……oh, no……don’t stop….pleeeaaase,” she managed to stammer as her hips twitched, unable to maintain a rhythm as she began to unravel abpve him.  
“I won’t stop……..not until you’ve fucked me dry,” he snarled, pounding against her and smiling as she tensed and shot her hand out to the bed frame to steady herself.  
The sensation of her tightening around his cock, together with throwing her head back caused him to thrust up into her with a series of punishing strokes, and he cried out her name through gritted teeth as he shot his hot, copious release within her.  
She collapsed against him and was silent; not moving or uttering a sound, not even a breath. His own breathing was irregular and sounded loud in the now quiet room.  
“Jeanne?” he panted, “Jeanne, are you alright? Have I hurt you?” Athos’ voice was concerned and slightly alarmed.  
Gently easing her onto the mattress beside him he could see that she appeared to be unconscious. She was slumped, eyes closed, lips parted and not visibly breathing.  
“Oh God….no……I can’t have fucked you to death…..you Treville’s daughter!” he panicked, pushing her hair away from her face as he tried to think of what to do.  
What felt like an eternity later she gave a particularly deep breath and opened her eyes in the wild and unfathoming manner of one who has lost track of time or feeling.  
“You went so quiet……I was worried for a moment,” Athos stammered, grateful that she was breathing.  
Jeanne tried to focus her eyes and stretched out her mouth a little, gasping air into her lungs, “Did I pass out?” she asked.  
He nodded, “Has this happened before?” he asked.  
She grinned and rolled onto her side as she continued to try moderating her breathing, she nodded, “I think it is known as la petite mort,” she breathed, “Occasionally I become unconscious when I reach a climax of pleasure......I'm sorry if it prevented you from achieving the same......although it feels as though maybe you managed it," she shifted again and felt a trickle of warm liquid oozing from her opening.  
Athos smiled beside her, “You assume correctly…..I didn’t think to withdraw….I hope that won’t be an issue,” he confessed, slightly ashamed that he hadn’t even thought of pulling out as he spilt inside her….in fact in the heat of the moment wild horses would not have been able to make his hips move in the opposite direction!  
He felt his finger tips softly grazing against the skin of her shoulder and nuzzled against her neck, breathing in the glorious scent of her warm skin and hair.  
“We agreed no tenderness,” she whispered, although her eyes gave away her own emotions.  
“We agreed a lot of things,” he breathed, his tongue trailing her skin and causing goosebumps to form on her arms.  
“Shall we agree to never do this again then?” Jeanne smiled and felt his lips curl into a smirk as they found the corner of her mouth.  
“Knowing how well we stick to agreements I think that sounds like an excellent plan,” and he settled himself around her, pulling the covers to cover them both.  
Jeanne nestled into his warmth and strength…..she knew this was a bad idea; but fuck that….he was infinitely better than a napkin….no matter how much potato starch you used!!!!!


	14. Your father would kill me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless bit of smut going on in this chapter - nothing else!!!  
> Jeanne drifts off to sleep, Athos doesn't and they wake up to engage in a lot more 'activity', including a cheeky bit of extra for Athos.....Jeanne isn't shy!

Jeanne drifted into a deep, satisfying slumber quickly. Athos found it more difficult to switch off his thoughts; he’d just fucked Treville’s daughter…..and it had been amazing!  
She was lying in his arms, head resting against his steady heartbeat; his fingertips couldn’t seem to stop their persistent exploration of the blemish free skin of her back.  
He felt happy, but at the same time conflicted…..how could this; whatever it was between them; how could it develop or even reoccur…..would she wake in the morning and want to forget it? Put it down to a momentary lapse?   
A slight alteration in her breathing and she shifted, curving her deliciously pert backside into him as she settled facing away from him, but dragging his arm under her neck to rest dangerously close to her exposed breast.  
He grinned as she wriggled further; thinking back to the night in the forest when he had been almost too terrified to fall asleep once he’d realised she was next to him. His body seemed to remember the wriggling arse all too well though and stiffened against her despite Athos tilting his pelvis away slightly and hoping the cool, evening air would address it.  
A sweet, growling moan issued from Jeanne and he realised with slight embarrassment that he had woken her;  
“Something appears to be sticking into me, Captain,” she purred and made to squirm around; but Athos stopped her, instead he stroking his hand down her arm and then thigh, lifting and parting her legs; hooking his hand firmly around her knee.  
“It doesn’t appear to be sticking in completely…….at least not yet,” he rumbled, benind her.  
Her pussy was still wet from his cum, and she could smell her own arousal mixed with his as he hoisted her thigh and slid her lips apart deftly with the fingers of the same hand; his other working around to fondle her needy breasts.  
He positioned his straining cock at her entrance and pressed the head inside her, gasping as the widened arrowhead slid into her hungry hole. She twisted her face to his and found his mouth; their tongues battling as they had done with swords; neither willing to yield. Tongues became teeth and all the while he hesitated, holding her wide with just the head of his cock within her; despite her squirming and attempts to push back onto him.  
“Tell me what you want,” he drawled as he moved his mouth to her shoulder, biting down to mark her.  
Jeanne was almost sobbing with need as she covered his firm hand with her own, trying to push herself onto him.  
“I want you inside me, filling me,” she whimpered.  
“More,” he groaned, now desperate himself to plunge within her, but forcing himself to tease her, glorying in how she was almost falling apart.  
“Oh God, you bastard……I want to feel you fucking me….so hard, and so fast…..I want you to cum inside me then lick me clean, and I want to smell myself on your beard after I’ve ground my leaking pussy into your face,” she panted.  
Athos sobbed her name as he drilled his full length deeply inside her, withdrawing and pounding again and again into her hot center. He wanted the sensation to last, but hearing the description tumble from her pretty mouth had almost unravelled him and the soft, creamy cheeks of her arse pressing into his firm stomach combined with the sight of her stretching her arm back to clasp his shoulder, tightening the skin of her breast into a delicate and arousing point was sending him to heaven.  
Pulling himself onto his knees and her with him, she buried her face into the pillow to stifle her cries. He wasn’t being tender and at that moment she was very glad; she wanted him fucking her for all he was worth, and as he took a firm hold of her hips and rammed into her she clasped her lip in her teeth and listened to the delicious sound of her bare arse slapping against his hips; his sack swinging freely beneath them, and dropping to her elbows she was able to reach down and cup the heavy but petal soft skin, squeezing it with enough firmness to make Athos cry out and grit his teeth.   
Jeanne thought back to how she had pleasured herself in this very position using her home made phallus and grinned into the pillow at how much more enjoyable this was with a real cock.  
She felt his thrusts speed up and deepen, he was really pounding into her now, their rhythm building perfectly, their breath mingling in equally sharp pants.  
Quite abruptly he stopped and withdrew, flipping her over onto her back as she whimpered at her loss.   
“Don’t worry….I’m here,” he breathed huskily as he grabbed her calves and pressed her legs back against the mattress, simultaneously sliding his full length inside her gaping and reddened hole.  
His eyes didn’t leave hers, and he watched as her mouth formed a tight ‘o’ shape, as her eyes fluttered and she fought to focus on his, and as she silently mouthed his name.  
He pressed his full weight onto her, folding her almost in two as he levered himself against her; rocking deliciously against her thatched mound, squirming against her clit and smirking as that pretty mouth hurled a string of obscenities at him.  
He silenced her with his own mouth; insistent and hungry, and as he finally let go of his grip on her calves she wrapped them high around his back and thrust against him with a fevered anguish, desperate for the release she knew she was close to.  
His own movements were now fast, frenzied and fucking fabulous. He threw his head back and growled as he spasmed within her and she actually felt his cock pulse and the resultant release shoot within her. He held her fast and tight to his body as she writhed against him, finding the combination of his pulsing cock and her pressured nub just the right amount of unbearable pleasure and this time she remained conscious as she rode out her orgasm while he watched and supported her undulating hips.  
After withdrawing he grinned and began to crawl down her body, noticing her shocked but blissed out face as she realised he was going to act out all of her earlier outburst….she wasn’t quite sure she could cope…….but dammit, she’d give it a try!  
He positioned himself, panting against her thighs, his breath hot on her skin. His eyes peering up at her were just the right side of menacing to be pleasurable, and they were so dark, it was as if his pupils had absorbed his green irises.  
Lifting her hips slightly he trailed his soft tongue along the full length of her slit, revelling in the uncontrollable twitching it produced. He tasted his own, salty juices mixed with her own musky sweetness and growled as she spasmed within, squirting an oozing amount against him.   
He increased the pace of his licks; lapping like a cat and delving the tip og his tongue within her, twisting his head to reach deeper; his beard scratching deliciously against her tender lips. After swallowing most of his cum he moved his mouth towards the small bump of nerves buried within her hair, and latching on began to suck in a firm, regular rhythm, causing Jeanne to sob loudly and fist her hands into his dark curls. She pushed his head closer and felt him smile and giggle as he continued his ministrations. He paused briefly to toss her calves over his shoulders, allowing him greater access to her and brought his fingers up to her hole. Without warning he pressed 2 of his calloused fingers, knuckle deep inside her and waited as she fought the urge to scream due to her hyper sensitivity. As he felt her begin to grind against him again he started to match the rhythm of his fingers to his licking and sucking of her clit.  
She was panting his name amongst a wide range of other obscenities as he sped up and slid a third finger inside her watching her eyes roll back into her head as she unravelled beneath him. He stroked and sucked her orgasm out of her, not releasing her until she slumped back onto the pillows, a sobbing and boneless wreck.  
Crawling back up to lay beside her he tilted her head so that he could deliver a series of crushing kisses, using his bread to rub against her soft lips. Jeanne smiled and whimpered as she inhaled the scent of sex on him; almost ingrained into his facial hair and lifted his hand so that she could suck on the fingers which had recently brought her to the heights of ecstasy.  
He groaned as he watched her take his digits into her darkened lips, and she instantly knew what he was thinking. Reaching down she felt his hardness and forced her loose body to sit up. She used her hand to coax him to kneel over her, straddling her slender form and she licked her pink tongue from the hilt of his shaft to the leaking split as he watched her from above.  
He made his knees slightly more comfortable, kneeling up slightly to allow her the best angle for taking more of his length into her mouth and gasped as she reached up to fondle his heavy sack whilst sliding her lips down to devour most of his not inconsiderable length.  
She gazed up through lowered lashes and moistened her lips further before drawing him completely out so that she could press her lips around his head as it made it’s way back inside the warm softness of her mouth. The sensation was exquisite and he had to fight the urge to grab her head and pound inside her.   
She groaned deliciously as she tasted him and felt him pressing deep into her throat, she relaxed and was able to avoid gagging, and gave the right amount of pressure with her tamed teeth combined with a gentle sucking motion to have him throwing back his head and moaning her name.  
She picked up her speed and found that her breasts were rubbing against his hairy thighs as she moved her neck and shoulders, adding a delightful element of arousal for her. She could feel that Athos was close, he had captured her head with one hand and her shoulder with his other in order to control the pace and his depth. Jeanne however had other ideas and reaching her hand behind his soft sack found his tender hole. Flicking across it she felt him tighten slightly, then moan with need. She shifted her hand to transfer some of her own juices to lubricate her way and pressed one of her slender fingers into him as he bucked and ground his now twitching and leaking cock into her mouth.  
She gazed up as she pressed her digit in further, stroking against his own spot of ecstasy within and in a shower of expletives felt his hot seed spurt down her throat, fill her mouth and dribble down her chin as she continued to massage her finger into him. She delighted in his reaction and once he had finished pulsing into her, gently slid her finger from him, wiping it on the cover as he collapsed onto his haunches and then his stomach as she moved to provide him with as much room as the bed allowed.  
“Good God……..your father would kill me if he knew you’d done that to me!” he panted; unable to see straight and needing the security of lying down to be able to start controlling his breathing again.  
Jeanne let out the most filthy laugh against Athos’ muscular arm, “I’m pretty sure he’d already have killed you for doing what YOU did to ME….so you needn’t worry about it the next time!”  
Athos shook his head and groaned, “The next time?”  
Jeanne bit a chunk of his muscle, “There’d better be one……or I shall be very, very disappointed,” she purred, and curled around into him as they heard the dawn chorus of the Parisian bird song.  
“Oh lord…..I haven’t actually slept!” Athos mumbled.  
“Then do it now…..don’t worry, I’ll let you,” she giggled and within minutes they were both snoring gently.


	15. A hearty breakfast indeed!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, in this chapter Athos and Jeanne are slightly struggling with their feelings and how to be 'normal' around each other.   
> It's a short one, it's also a 'Random Word Generator' challenge between myself and my fan fic pal....all 10 are in there Lula!

Athos managed to sleep for a couple of hours; when he woke he would have given anything to remain curled around Jeanne’s body for a little while longer; her eyelids fluttering gently in time with her steady, languid breathing and twitching foot.  
However, he knew that one of the cadets would be knocking and delivering hot water for his toilette and obviously would expect to see him in his own bed, or at least not beside Jeanne in hers!  
He strode across the small space, stretching like a cat and hearing several bones creaking as he flexed his shoulders after their exertion the previous night. He needed to pee, but he needed his erection to subside slightly to make it possible.   
The water in his ewer was cold, he splashed a little across his chest which caused him to inhale sharply and had the desired effect of knocking the last vestiges of arousal from his loins. He stood and pissed into his pot – he’d mastered the art of doing so silently since Jeanne had become part of his morning routine; but this morning he felt reckless and hummed lightly as he pee’d before dragging on his braies.  
One of the younger cadets, Guillaume, knocked and entered, carrying a steaming earthenware jug of water. He placed it down on the bench as usual and, as usual tried to sneak a look through the slatted screen to Jeanne. Each morning he was expected to provide a detailed description of what he saw behind the screen – most days it was nothing more than a flash of honey coloured hair on the pillow, sometimes a swathe of creamy skin from her arm or shoulder. He was quite well practised at visualising the entire scene from one quick glance, and today his eyes widened as he retreated – there had been a definite indent in the pillow beside her, and the covers were thrown off as if a second person had left the bed. He was also able to see Jeanne’s naked leg hooked around the covers and the rounded curve of her arse…..why hadn’t she been facing the other way?!  
Athos poured water and sluiced himself in the most important body parts, then tossed the water away and poured more in order to soften the bristles of his beard and shave.   
He paused as Porthos steamed into the room; a thunderous look on his face, which immediately softened as he saw the amused and wry twinkle in his friend’s eye in the small mirror.  
“I’m sorry Porthos……I should not have taken your purse….but after several glasses of wine Miss Treville’s dares become quite intoxicating…..you should have found an extra 10 livres in there for the inconvenience,” and with a twist he turned back to attending his beard.  
Porthos had not in fact counted his coin purse, but glanced over towards where Jeanne was lying in her bed. She was wriggling slightly to gain additional warmth from the covers and making a delightfully sweet snuffle into the pillows….yeah, if she’d dared him to steal Athos’ money bag he’d have done it in a heartbeat.  
“Well….no harm done I suppose. Is this usual then?” Porthos indicated Athos’ semi naked form and Jeanne’s slumbering state.  
Athos glanced across and shrugged, “Yes. I rise before her, dress and eat breakfast with anyone else who happens to be around. I close the door fairly sharply and that seems to be enough to wake her. When she’d dressed I come back in to work,” and he smoothed the drying cloth across his chin, pleased with the result.  
“You’re a better man than me….there is no way I wouldn’t have…..” Porthos was cut off in his musings,  
“…..she’d Treville’s daughter!” Athos pointed out, his dark eyebrows adding the intent needed to make Porthos rethink his mental meandering, but inwardly feeling a touch of guilt knowing that the thought of Porthos making advances towards Jeanne would now require him to tackle some quite serious emotions.  
Athos dressed with the quick efficiency of a soldier and they left the room, banging the door resonantly. They seated themselves at the large communal table and devoured bread, cheese and delicious hot, stewed fruits smothered in porridge…….Guillaume noted the enthusiasm Athos had for his food, his mind still wandering back to the image of Jeanne’s bed.  
Inside the Captain’s quarters Jeanne woke with a start and stretched out in the bed, noting the masculine scent of Athos on the pillow, and smiling at the memory of being thoroughly satiated by the man himself. But clearly they couldn’t make it common knowledge…..how on earth would she maintain a semblance of calm around him knowing what they’d done together…….she would remember the look he gave her as she was reaming his hole for a very long time!  
She forced herself out of bed and pee’d in her own pot; it tingled like hell and she was tender; but Athos’ pulsing cock had definitely been worth the mild discomfort this morning!  
She collected the remnants of the hot water and took it behind the screen – several times when she’d first arrived she’d found herself mid toilette as a cadet, or Porthos (on more than one occasions now she thought about it!) had burst in expecting the Captain, so she’d resolved to remain behind the screen so that at least they didn’t catch her nakedness……word had got around and the interruptions seemed to have ceased!  
She washed herself thoroughly with a linen cloth and some of the goats milk soap she and Constance used. She applied the cloth to her nether regions tenderly and soaked away some of the overwhelming aroma of sex.  
She realised she was famished and dressed quickly plaiting her damp hair into a braid at her neck, trailing it slightly to one side and fastening the ends with a small piece of linen. She bounded down the stairs and joined the throng of cadets, d’Artagnan and Constance who were now seated at the table eating. Aramis was sauntering across to join them. She ate ravenously….noted again by a now smirking Guillaume and they discussed the previous evening; Jeanne was able to fill in the blanks of what had happened to Porthos’ money purse. Howling laughter ensued as she described the bath house scene – at least part of it. Aramis’ eyes widened at the thought of what Porthos had seen,  
“So presumably he went off in search of Athos….I don’t see either of them; maybe he killed him…..or challenged him to a duel!” he grinned.  
D’Artagnan shook his head, “No, they both went off to the palace after breakfast, Captain Athos was summoned…..again!”  
Jeanne breathed slightly easier, at least she wouldn’t have to face him immediately; she’d be able to practise a suitable facial expression…..it would be as if nothing had occurred between them…..probably!  
After a hearty amount of food she meandered across to the stables to begin her usual routine; mucking out, grooming and probably exercising a couple of the mounts….although she wasn’t convinced that riding astride would be a success today!  
She found the work relaxing and soothing; it allowed her to stretch out some of the muscles she hadn’t realised she’d over worked during the previous evenings activities. She found herself humming as she tossed used straw from Roger’s stable, (Athos’ trusty and massive mount)…she had done things to that horse’s master….very nice things indeed…..she had fucked the Captain of the musketeers…..and he’d fucked her back! As she began strewing fresh straw into the stable she pondered how she felt; yes, certainly excited about the amazing sex they’d taken part in, but she was also conflicted about her deeper feelings……she wondered how he was feeling about what they’d done. Would he view it as a drunken error? Oh lord….WAS IT a drunken error? Would he toss her aside? Would he kick her out of the garrison? Oh lord, she didn’t want that to happen, she didn’t want any of that to happen….that meant she wanted more than a one night, heated tumble with him….that meant she had feelings for him…..oh shit!  
Maybe she just needed to see him again, just to see him in the cold light of day….realise that he is just the Captain of the Musketeers; a friend of her dead father; just a bog standard, ordinary man…..who happens to have a very decent cock…no, NO….no, just a man; good for a shag, but ultimately nothing that a decently starched napkin can’t replace…..well, sort of….except for the licking….that definitely cannot be replicated by a cloth……not even a damp one!  
No….it would be fine. She realised she had been grooming the same flank of the chestnut horse for far too long as she pondered, and she heard hooves clattering into the courtyard. So presumably that was him, and Porthos, since they were the only ones who had left the garrison on horseback. She’d just go out and take the reins of one of their mounts and see to it, just like any other day…..nothing would be different; nothing would affect her…..  
….he swung down from his saddle having glanced around the courtyard; she wasn’t there, but not to worry….everything would be perfectly normal…..the sight of her would not affect him…….  
….oh shit! He’s gorgeous!  
……oh shit! She’s gorgeous!  
Why did he have to look so amazing in black leather? Why did he have to have eyes that smouldered, even when they were trying not to look at her? Why did he have to clear his thoat to produce such a rumbling, deep noise that seemed to vibrate her very core? Oh God, and now her heart was starting to palpitate as she casually took the reins from him and manoeuvred Roger towards the stables.  
Why did she have to look so amazing in a pair of suede trousers?Why her hair have to spring from it’s braid in tiny tendrils that he wanted to tease with his fingertips? Why did she have to part her lips, those beautiful, ful and kissable lips, in a way that rocked him to his very core. Oh God, and now his cock was crushing against his leather breeches as he held out his reins to her and she manoeuvred his horse towards the stables.  
It wasn’t even lunchtime….how on earth would he last until they were alone in his quarters again?


	16. Go on Captain!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne and Athos can't get through the day without a bit of action...in the stables.  
> Porthos gets a front row seat to the action!

Some time later, Jeanne had completed brushing down Roger. She’d had to stifle a sob as she lifted off the saddle – it had still been warm from…..well, from his arse, and the enduring image of his deliciously firm buttocks had kept her company as she finished the job and closed the stable door on the large, black beast.  
Jeanne was at a loose end and now horny. Athos was sparring with some of the more capable cadets in the courtyard. Despite his advancing years he was still able to fight 3 or 4 of them at once and for some reason seemed to have even more of a spring in his step today.  
She crossed the yard and popped into the Captain’s quarters, leaving a small piece of straw on his desk, then ventured back to the stables. She climbed up into the hayloft and nestled donw in the warm straw.  
Porthos clambered up onto the roof of the garrison block; his room had been leaking quite badly recently and he had a feeling that a slate had come loose, so he decided to fix it.  
Athos flicked the final sword from the hand of Clemand and patted the young cadet on the head….he had improved, but he still dawdled in his parries which enabled his opponent to get the upper hand….if they were as skilled as the Captain that is.  
He strode to his room to freshen up; his short was clinging to him from exertion and his hair was damp…..but at least it had got Jeanne out of his thoughts. He’d been somewhat jealous of his horse as he imagined her hands swarming across it’s flanks.   
He shook his head and gulped down a cup of wine as he found a fresh shirt and pulled off the one he was wearing.  
He smirked as he spotted the piece of straw, and a deep growl emanated from within his chest. He quickly replaced his crumpled garment and descended the stairs, making his way around the back of the buildings to the sneaky, back way into the stables.  
Porthos had settled himself on the apex of the roof and had spotted the slates which were causing the rain to seep into his rooms; one was cracked and needed replacing, a second was just dislodged.  
He inched along the roofline and blinked as the sun blinded him. As he turned his head away however he caught sight of something through the high, uncovered opening of the stable block.   
Jeanne had grown restless waiting for Athos; but she had heard the sound of metal on metal cease and hoped he would see her clue as to her location. Anyway….she’d started without him. She had removed her clothes and was kneeling up in the sweet smelling straw, stroking between her legs and pinching her nipples to firm peaks……and Porthos had a perfect, ringside view.  
“Fuckin’ hell!” he breathed as he squirmed a fraction further along the roof. Jeanne’s head was lolling backwards as she ground her hips against her hand.  
Porthos couldn’t quite believe his luck; Jesus she was beautiful. Her skin looked edibly creamy; her breasts were quite simply magnificent – pert and suckable, and the sight of her own fingers pleasuring her slit had him erect and pressing against his leather breeches instantly.  
There was no way he could ‘join in’, if he was going to maintain his position he would have to look as though he was doing a bit of roofing…..but he would pay close attention….he’d be able to close his eyes and knock one out later….or maybe he’d make a move towards her!  
He was just settling in to enjoy himself; pressing his palm against his straining cock above his trousers would have to do; when he glanced down and saw movement, someone was making their way into the stables through the secret side door – the one that all of the cadets thought the older musketeers knew nothing about!  
He supressed a sly, wide mouthed snigger, “This could be embarrassing!”  
Athos found it slightly exciting to creep about and nip into the stable using the door that he and Aramis had created back when Treville had been in charge……Oh Lord, don’t think about Treville now!  
He climbed the ladder up to the second floor and pulled it up after himself to avoid interruptions and groaned loudly at the sight of Jeanne stroking herself, the sunlight blinking through the open window catching her hair in a golden halo.  
She smiled and purred, dropping to crawl towards him as she heard him clear his throat.  
Porthos stretched slightly, but she had dipped below the window, he heard a feminine voice though,

Out on the roof, Porthos’ mouth made a tight ‘ooooh’ shape,   
“God, I wish I could see who you’re talking to,” he muttered.  
There was a definite masculine response; it was deep and resonant, but he couldn’t quite make out what was said….he heard Jeanne’s giggle though and then froze as he saw Athos grasping Jeanne’s face between his hands and kissing her with a frenzy that implied previous acquaintance.  
“Well fuck me backwards!” Porthos exclaimed; eyes wide and suddenly highly aware that his hand was still on his own crotch.  
Jeanne expertly stripped Athos of his shirt and trousers as his tongue continued it’s exploration of her mouth and neck.   
Porthos recovered his composure slightly only to have it tossed aside and trampled on once more as Jeanne dropped to suck on the Captain’s cock. She was sucking off Athos!! And only moments earlier Porthos had thought he had a chance…..bollocks!  
Still; they were putting on quite a show, and when Athos released himself from her lips long enough to reposition her and lever open her legs around him Porthos had an amazing view of….well…..everything!  
He was quite impressed by them….they’d clearly done this before; there was a wordless communication between them as she shifted her legs higher, as he lifted her arse up higher to slide himself deeply within her slick lips.   
Porthos realised his palm had returned to his own impressive length,   
“Jesus, I could damage that,” he growled as he imagined himself in Athos’ position.  
Athos himself was increasing his pace as he felt Jeanne scratching at his shoulders and matching his thrusting hips with her own, desperate for the feeling of pressure his firm stomach gave against her mound.  
Athos dropped his knees slightly, dipped his head and latched his lips onto one of Jeanne’s rosebud nipples causing her to squeal and undulate against him more erratically.  
From his front row seat Porthos exhaled slowly,   
“Nearly there……go on Captain!” he muttered, realising that he was focussing on Athos as much as he was Jeanne….he’d review his conscience later.  
With a keening sob Jeanne went limp in Athos’ arms as he drove himself into her and grunted his own release seconds later.  
Porthos felt his own erection hard against his breeches and realised he was slightly out of breath……well……so they were doing that…..together!  
He looked up at the cloudless sky; sod the roof, it wasn’t going to rain tonight….and other matters were more pressing. Literally!


	17. What the hell does she want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milady arrives....which is news to Jeanne - and not welcome!

“We’re going to have to work this out,” Jeanne smiled, nuzzling into Athos’ chest as his arms tightened their grip on her.  
He growled into her scalp, “Personally I’d say this appears to be working out perfectly….at least from where I’m lying!”  
Jeanne sniggered, “But we can’t always meet up here in the middle of the day…..and the horses are going to go bald if I drift off again mid-grooming with images of your naked buttocks in my mind,” and she pushed him roughly over in the straw, trailing her fingertips across the soft but firm flesh of his pert arse.  
“I think we need to try to discover what this is for both of us before we start involving the rest of the garrison…….is that alright? he asked, stroking her hair from her cheek as he spoke.  
Jeanne nodded and inhaled the masculine scent emanating from the cleft of his armpit.

“I should get back,” he sighed, languidly standing and gathering his discarded clothing.  
Jeanne watched him dress and lifted her head and shoulders for a final press of his lips before he flashed the briefest smile and tackled the ladder.   
Evidently he wasn’t delayed in the stables as she heard his deep, rumbling baritone in the courtyard, demanding to know the location of Aramis and d’Artagnan.

Jeanne dressed and completed her daily chores within the stables before heading towards the kitchens to talk to Constance and see if she could be of use – feeding the musketeers and the recruits was a notoriously endless job!  
As she reached the outer doors there was a commotion and a clattering of hooves in the courtyard. The horse and rider was unfamiliar to her; a female.

The woman was wearing an incredibly expensive looking green and gold cloak and had an almost haughty expression on her smooth, pale skin.   
Her dark hair was almost black; piled high into an elaborate confection of curls.   
She pulled her mount to a standstill and waited with an air of entitlement for assistance to help her dismount.  
Clemand was the first to approach her at the same moment that Aramis and D’Artagnan appeared.   
Jeanne observed their body language as they noticed the new arrival. D’Artagnan in particular appeared agitated and she noticed the female’s expression become a wide, almost sarcastic grin.  
Porthos was coming out of his room and passing by the kitchen – for some reason he was peckish! – he studiously tried to maintain a neutral expression at the sight of Jeanne.

“What the hell does she want?” he growled, noticing the woman who had now dismounted and was making harsh demands of poor Clemand who seemed unsure whether to hold the reins of the horse or leave to seek assistance.  
Jeanne noted his position and went across; she could take the horse for him.   
Porthos tried to prevent her, but was more distracted by the arrival of Constance at his shoulder, briskly whisking her hands across her bodice and eyeing the woman who she recognised immediately with a scowl.

“What the hell does SHE want?” she echoed, Porthos shrugged.  
Jeanne took the reins and received a penetrating and judgemental look from the woman.  
“Well, where is he?” she barked at Clemand, “Fetch him….NOW!” she continued as Jeanne began to turn the sweating horse to lead it to fresh water.

The door to Athos’ quarters opened and she tried not to stare as the sun caught the shiny blackness of his jacket.  
She noticed him notice her, but his gaze was dragged towards the newcomer and she saw a brief, unfamiliar look behind his eyes.  
He clearly knew her…….and he clearly felt something for her.   
It was written plainly on his face for a fraction of a second.   
Jeanne saw him look at this fine lady in a way he had not looked at her.

His gaze found hers again and she saw an almost pleading grimace, followed by a stern, setting of his mouth.  
Jeanne left the scene, suddenly feeling like she had to remove herself from him, as he began to descend the stairs; and her, as she turned and regarded him.

Porthos noticed Jeanne’s face; it looked calm but quizzical, but he saw her expression change as Constance spoke loud enough for her to hear;  
“What the hell does his wife want with him?”  
Jeanne forced her slack jaw into a firm line to control her emotions somewhat as she lead Athos’ wife’s mount to the stables.

So he had a wife!

A wife he’d never thought to mention!

And he clearly still loved her, the look in those eyes when he saw her spoke volumes.

She busied herself removing the tack and saddle from the horse, sliding her hands across it’s flanks in sweeping motions, as if trying to whisk away the varied thoughts and emotions running through her mind.  
The sweat that she was working up gave her an excuse to wipe her hand across her face and remove the additional moisture that was spilling from her eyes.  
She finished dealing with the horse and composed her features before walking back towards the garrison yard.

Porthos regarded her features closely; she’d been crying; she clearly didn’t know about Anne De Winter, or the Comtess De La Fere.   
She looked like a deflated version of herself, as if all the sunlight had been switched off behind her eyes.

Clear female laughter could be heard emanating from the Captain’s quarters.   
Both Constance and Jeanne flinched fractionally at the sound.  
Jeanne inhaled sharply and swiped up her jacket from the bench, slipping into it as she strode out of the garrison gates, her steps calm and measured, her expression one of resigned disappointment.  
Several of the men noticed her leave, Aramis caught the eye of Porthos with a shrug, D’Artagnan was following Constance’s rigid figure back into their quarters to pacify and reassure her.  
“I’ll go and…..er…..just check on ‘er,” Porthos jerked his neck in the direction Jeanne had walked.

Within his quarters Athos had, as he always did, and as he always would, given into the sweet warmth and beauty of his wife.   
Thankfully their passionate sex rarely took place in a bed, so the dulcet scent of Jeanne would not sully their coupling as they rammed each other against the walls, desk and floor of the Captain’s rooms.

Jeanne had located the inn favoured by the Musketeers and had settled herself into one of the high backed pew style benches.   
She was brought a cup of wine and motioned for the bottle to be left.  
“What are you doing here?” Porthos’ deep, resonant voice shocked her as she refilled her empty cup, the rough wine warming her throat, but not her heart.  
“I’m drinking, and intend to carry on drinking,” she replied, not lifting her sullen gaze from the table as she downed a second cup from the bottle.  
Porthos sighed, “Do you want to be alone?”  
Jeanne still didn’t meet his gaze, but he saw her mouth twist fractionally between her teeth and her eyes glazed a little, “Yes,” she sniffed and poured another glass of wine into her cup.  
Porthos nodded, but tutted and moved away, only as far as the other end of the room though where he sat and waited until he was needed.


	18. Your wife disagrees.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne cannot view Athos in the same way as she did before knowing about Milday.  
> Porthos looks after her though, as the true gentleman we know him to be.....although alone in his room later he is the other gentleman we know Porthos to be ;)!

Several hours later the clientele had drifted out of the inn and only a few hardy souls remained.   
Porthos had eaten, but not had more than a couple of mugs of ale; the same could not be said for Jeanne.   
He’d watched her drink her way to the bottom of 2 bottles of wine without eating a morsel and she was now slumped and slurring across the table.

A couple of drunken oafs had tried their luck, on one occasion one had actually got close enough to grab hold of her shoulders before Porthos dealt with them, returning swiftly to his hidden look out spot before she noticed anything untoward.

The inn owner glanced across at Porthos, grimacing in Jeanne’s direction.   
He received a knowing nod from the musketeer who handed over several coins to pay for their beverages that evening.  
Porthos lifted one of Jeanne’s limp arms which dropped with a thud against the wooden bench.  
“Come on you,” he muttered, huskily.   
He bent and hoisted her across his shoulder, her head and arms dangling down to his weapon’s belt and he gave a brief, single fingered ‘almost salute’ to the owner as he carried her into the dark streets.

The trip back to the garrison was uneventful – nobody would argue with Porthos’ size, even in the dark back streets of the city.   
Jeanne made a few grunts and random noises, almost as though she was in the middle of singing some folk song, but was otherwise silent across his broad back.   
He tried not to think about the proximity of her buttocks to his face, and what he knew lay beneath the fabric of her breeches.

The Captain’s quarters were in darkness; he could stick her in his bed and sleep in the stable; so he carried her across to where his room was located, ducking under the familiar low doorway.  
He lowered Jeanne’s drunken body onto his narrow bed, she fell to the side the instant her legs felt the mattress beneath her.  
Stifling a groan at her hair splayed across his pillow he bent down and removed her leather boots, marvelling at the dainty size of her foot in his large hands.  
“I don’t want to…….don’t…….no,” she garbled into the pillow, lashing out with an arm haphazardly.  
Porthos part smiled, part winced, “I’m not doing that, don’t worry…..you’re safe,” and he stroked his palm along the side of her cheek, his thumb lingering at the soft skin below her jawline.  
Jeanne sighed deeply and nuzzled into the unfamiliar scent of the bed, but found the sensation of being horizontal and still comforting. “You coming back?” she mumbled.  
“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye!” he smiled softly and inhaled deeply.  
Porthos located a pail from the courtyard and placed it beside her head on the floor then closed the door behind him and settled down in the stables - not the most comfortable place he’d ever slept, but not the most uncomfortable either! 

 

As the garrison started to wake up Porthos stretched, sluiced water over his face and gingerly rapped on the door to his own room. There was no response, so he cautiously opened the doorway.  
Jeanne had evidently woken at some point in order to make use of the bucket and remove several items of clothing.   
She was still however asleep on his bed, snoring deliciously and drooling, her eyelids fluttering slightly as if mid-dream.  
Her breeches were directly infront of him on the floor, her jacket across on the opposite side of the room.   
She was still wearing her shirt and underwear, which Porthos smiled at in order to avoid lingering too much on her shapely calves, one of which was resting on the mattress, the other had fallen off the side; her toes resting on the stone floor.

He grimaced and removed the bucket which appeared to contain the contents of one of the bottles of wine he’d watched her consume the night before.   
He hurled it into the slops and rinsed out the pail before taking it back to the room – she might need it again once she woke up.

Upon returning to his chamber Jeanne had started to stir and was groaning loudly, trying to blot out the daylight by grinding her face into the flat pillow.  
“Mornin’!” Porthos grinned, grimacing and thrusting the pail forwards as it looked like she might hurl.  
She didn’t though, managing to steady her griping stomach by swallowing and squeezing her eyes shut.  
She flailed her hand across the bed, trying to find any evidence that she’d shared it with another.   
Porthos cleared his throat from the doorway,  
“Don’t worry…..YOU slept here, I shared with the horses!” he smiled.  
Jeanne attempted to sit up and glanced down at her scantily clad form, “How?.....”  
“No idea, I’m only responsible for the boots……you appear to have ........done a little rearranging when you woke up to puke!” he went across to his small dressing stand and rested his hip against the ledge, picking up his gloves which he’d left there.

Jeanne puffed out her cheeks and dragged her hand through her tangled mess of hair, finding small, hard flecks – presumably dried vomit!   
She was now sat up, one leg bent beneath her body, the other still dangling over the edge of the bed frame.  
“Thank you…..for, all of this,” she vaguely indicated the room and pail.  
Porthos inclined his chin slightly, “So….how come you got so sloshed?” he asked, although he really just wanted to see if she could recall the events prior to her drinking binge.

Apparently she had either forgotten or pushed the reality out with alcohol, because she gave a slumped sigh and buried her face in her hands.  
“I mean, Athos’ wife turned up and you just went and got shit faced!” he added, pursing his lips.   
Jeanne dragged her eyes up to his. They were soft and almost apologetic.  
Clearly he knew something.  
“Yep….that’s pretty much exactly what happened….so let’s try and pretend it didn’t shall we,” Jeanne murmured, her voice still muzzy from being covered with her hands.   
She inched closer to the edge of the bed and opened her eyes fractionally to see one of Porthos’ strong, gnarled hands in front of her; palm up, inviting her to accept it. She placed one of her small, still clammy hands into it and he carefully hauled her up to stand, placing his other hand on her shoulder to steady her as she faltered slightly on her wobbly limbs.  
“You should eat something!” he stated, stepping swiftly to one side as she grabbed for the bucket and threw up the remains of her stomach, retching once there was nothing left.   
“Maybe wait a bit then,” Porthos smirked, screwing up his face and ignoring the ridiculous swelling in his groin which had appeared when she’d bent to use the pail causing her bloomers to stretch tightly against her body, showing a perfect peachy outline of her arse.  
He slunk out of the room, leaving her dry heaving and clutching the pail, sat again on his bed.

 

Athos appeared in the courtyard in the early afternoon.   
Porthos struggled to greet him casually, especially when Aramis began goading him about his antics with his wife the previous night – apparently noises echoing around the garrison had left little to the imagination.   
Briefly, Porthos was pleased that Jeanne had been inebriated in the inn; he’d seen the tear stained face and pained look in her eyes….and he’d seen what she was doing with Athos in the stable hayloft….and he’d seen her this morning after drinking herself into oblivion.  
She clearly felt something for him; and despite his comments to the contrary, everyone knew that Athos would never be able to rid himself of his love for Milday.

Athos kept flitting his gaze around the garrison, he was clearly looking for something, or someone.   
Having eaten he headed for the stables, returning moments later having not found who he was searching for.  
Porthos maintained a furtive interest in Athos’ movements.   
He also noticed the deathly stare that Constance gave his quarters when she appeared, and that D’Artagnan kissed her twice this morning before starting his usual routine of eating and training the cadets.

Athos didn’t say a word, but kept glancing around, almost doing a mental head count.   
“Have you got business at the palace….or are you otherwise engaged today?” Aramis grinned, ignoring the snarling eyeroll he received from Athos.  
“Palace, yes! She’s given me some information that I need to tell the king……could be fortuitous,” Athos remarked.  
Porthos couldn’t prevent the tut which left his lips, prompting Athos’ eyebrows to twitch and cast him a steely glare.  
Porthos met the look with an unblinking one of his own…..others at the table stilled and observed them; the air charged with masculine pheromones.  
Athos left the table and broke the stare first, “I should get to the palace,” he growled.

Porthos took a hunk of dry bread and a mug of water with him and headed towards his room. Jeanne was curled on the bed, dressed, her cheeks a little flushed, but certainly an improvement on a couple of hours earlier.  
Jeanne spotted the meagre but practical offerings Porthos was holding out and accepted both.   
She savoured the coolness of the water in her mouth and ripped off a mouthful of the bread which once swallowed felt good.  
She sighed and smiled up at him, “I think I may owe you an explanation….and my gratitude,” she stated, taking more of the bread and hitching across leaving room on the bed.   
Porthos noted the space, but decided to remain standing, shrugging slightly to imply that there was no need for either.  
“You know, don’t you? Me and Athos?” and she waited for his miniscule nod. “I wouldn’t have….if I’d known he was married,” she hastily added, but received a knowing smirk from the man across from her.  
“I’m not judging you……your body, your choices….he’s gone to the palace by the way so you can come out without bumping into him if you want.”  
Jeanne pursed her lips and winced. “Is she still here?”  
Porthos nodded solemly, “Constance can’t stand her either…..you could plot her painful death together!”   
Jeanne smiled; her eyes twinkled once more, “It isn’t that I don’t like her….I’ve never met her….although she did look like a right cow when I saw her yesterday! It was more the way he looked at her…..he doesn’t look at me that way; don't imagine he ever will either,” she brought her drifting gaze back to Porthos’ and shrugged sadly. “Some things we can’t unsee and they change things.”  
Porthos nodded, “Yep, the sight of you hurling your guts up into that bucket will definitely take some shaking!” he grinned. “Come on, fresh air and a bit of mucking out will perk you up a bit.”  
Jeanne stood and slapped him playfully on the shoulder as she followed him out of his room.

She spent a few hours in the stables and did indeed feel the benefit of the exercise.  
She heard the raised, haughty voice of ‘her’ asking one of the lower cadets who the items in Athos’ room belonged to – once it was explained that they were Treville’s daughters’ she huffed around and unceremoniously dumped all of Jeanne’s possessions onto the wooden porch.  
Clemand found her and explained somewhat anxiously.   
Jeanne had semi expected this – in fact she’d half expected to find her belongings strewn across the courtyard.  
She was in the process of retrieving them when Athos returned.   
He halted her with a hand on her forearm as she carried the wooden box she had found to transport the items.  
“You don’t have to do that?” he said softly, his eyes searching for hers, which she studiously avoided.  
“Your wife disagrees,” she stated simply, emphasising the second word, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second, but clearly portraying her sadness, humiliation and resignation.

He watched her walk across the courtyard and would have followed her, but at that moment Milday appeared at the top of the stairway and demanded his attention.

She took the box into the stables, Porthos had been kindness itself towards her last night, but she couldn’t keep him from his bed and force him into the stables!

Dragging her hand through her hair and repositioning the tie which held it from her face she mounted the ladder and arranged some of the hay.   
She placed some of her belongings on the wooden slat across the roof beam, including a candle and went to fetch a couple of blankets from the garrison store, passing Constance in the kitchens as she did. She noticed her steely expression as she chopped potatoes a little more vigorously than usual.  
As satisfied as she could be with her sleeping arrangements she pondered what she should do about the possibility of bumping into him….she’d have to deal with it, Athos would be at mealtimes, he’d be giving orders….and at any time he could order her to bugger off.   
Problem was, she had nowhere left to go.

Steeling herself for an uncomfortable mealtime, but her stomach growling, she ventured from the stables and assumed a position at the benches low down, to avoid the possibility of sitting next to Athos if he appeared.  
He didn’t, but she did, “The Captain will eat in his quarters. Bring him something….and I’ll have chicken….and wine,” she ordered before sweeping back up the stairs; Jeanne noticed that she was only partially dressed beneath the cloak she had thrown on and swallowed the now tasteless morsel of food in her mouth.

She felt a large hand on her shoulder, and seconds later Porthos slid his massive frame onto the bench beside her. “Room for a little ‘un?” he winked and cheekily stole the hunk of sausage from her fingers and popped it whole into his mouth before she could react.

She ate well and didn’t really think about what was going on in the rooms above them.

She lingered close to the fire long after the meal was finished, as did Porthos. His warmth and bulk was reassuring, and she didn’t relish sleeping in the draughty loft.  
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” Porthos whispered softly, fidgeting with his cup of ale absently rather than look at her.  
“Hayloft,” she replied, causing him to splutter slightly, thinking back to what he’d most recently seen her doing in there.  
“You not going to be cold up there?” he asked having gathered back his composure.  
“I’ll be fine…..anyway….you deserve your own bed back,” she smiled and cast him a furtive glance, noticing how his features were softened by the glow from the fire.

She could stare at him for a while like this….but she daren’t. “Well, I’m going to go and get comfortable. Goodnight Porthos.”  
“Goodnight Jeanne, sleep tight,” and Porthos flashed her a rather tender smile as she ambled across to the stables.  
He watched as a small glow appeared from the upper floor window opening then made his way to his bed chamber.

He discarded his jacket, breeches and boots and flopped down onto the mattress forgetting that it’s most recent occupant had been Jeanne.   
There was an overwhelmingly feminine aroma from his pillow and linen covers and he felt himself stiffen beneath the hem of his shirt.  
He growled deep within his chest, a mixture of ale and arousal coursing through him, “She’s Treville’s daughter…….and she’s Athos’ lover…….and she’s alone in that hayloft…..God, I saw her in that hayloft,” and the image of her naked body standing in the public baths entered his mind, “Oh God, so much slippery, silky skin!” and his hand was now firmly gripping his raging erection.   
He allowed his head to seek out her scent on the pillows and closed his eyes to picture that bath scene, then the hayloft scene of her fingering herself and that flash of her spread legs before being impaled on Athos’ cock.   
He imagined his own in it’s place and in a few more firm strokes was spilling and groaning across his belly.

“Fuck……I’ve either got to stop this, or do something about it!” he mumbled as he dragged a cloth across his sticky skin before falling back onto his bed and inhaling her scent into his dreams.


	19. So she isn't exactly Little Miss Popularity!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seemed like too long without smut....so I squeezed a bit of Milathos smut into this chapter....why not!  
> Jeanne is starting to view Porthos as her capable shoulder to lean on.

In the hayloft it was chilly and draughty, but Jeanne had arranged hay bales in such a way as to create quite a cosy space; and with the ladder pulled up she felt quite secure and safe.   
She pushed out of her mind the thought of what Athos was doing with 'her' in his quarters, in the bed that she’d come to think of as her own, but as handsome and arousing as he was she knew that she could never view him in the same way….he would never look at her the way he had looked at Milady….and she didn’t want to feel like a second place trophy.   
She had thought he was free to love her, but he belonged to someone else…..she couldn’t have him now; and he would not get her.

Her thoughts drifted instead to Porthos, his warm and caring manner towards her.   
She thought back to how he’d paraded himself naked in front of her on that first mission in the forest; how he’d evidently expected her to run away rather than face him, arouse him and flick his cock.   
Hmmmm, she remembered that clearly too; thick, hard and quite delicious looking now she thought again about it.   
And this evening he’d looked incredibly masculine and brooding seated by the fire next to her.

She eventually blew out her candle, images of both Athos and Porthos drifting in and out of her dreams.

 

Miladay on the other hand had the actual first hand example of Athos drifting in and out of her ‘dreams’, although sleeping had figured relatively little in their interactions.   
As always they aroused each other with almost every breath, look, touch and glance.   
Their love making was never tender any more; not like that first, tentative time when Athos had taken her as his wife.   
He’d been desperate not to hurt her, not knowing that she was hardly chaste and virginal.   
There were many occasions when she’d cried afterwards, but nobody and at no other time had ever made her shed tears of pure love.

On this occasion she had bound his wrists with the leather straps of his sword belt, having striped off his shirt. She fastened the loose end of the leather to the metal dividing screen and watched as Athos snarled, and strained against his leather breeches.  
“Good boy!” she purred, as he twitched and tugged against his restraint while she removed and stroked his thick, hard cock from his trousers and braies. “You know I like you hard and leaking…..always looks so commanding!”  
Athos growled, “Let me fuck you, you bitch!” and hissed as she dug her dagger sharp nails into his chest; he knew there would be marks there tomorrow, to match the ones she’d left on his buttocks and back on previous encounters.  
Milady teased him, removing her clothes slowly, within his line of sight, but often moving so that he had to twist and strain to catch a glimpse, sometimes disappearing completely from his view but making noises of self pleasure that left him throbbing with need.  
Once naked she let him feast on her fingers, with their unmistakable taste of her, making his cock twitch and leak further, knowing that she was wet with arousal for him.  
Using her own slickness she slid a sharp nailed talon against his most intimate entrance and pushed inside, finding the pleasurable spot within him that rendered him speechless but not silent.  
And finally, when he thought he could take no more, she released the knot of leather at his wrists and allowed him to take her, roughly, passionately and aggressively. Their bodies one unit, fused together, moulded to the other.   
They matched each other’s movements; knew instinctively what each moan and whimper implied, and knew how to bring the other to the very limit of pleasure before allowing themselves to cum and release the other.  
It had always been this way between them….after that first time.

When Jeanne woke up she heard a now familiar, haughty female voice barking orders to Clemand in the stables,  
“Just saddle it, properly, and make sure ALL of my things are packed….I’m leaving at noon.”  
Jeanne should have felt delight in the fact that Milady was leaving, but she just felt slightly numb; whether the woman was here or not, she would never feel the same way about Athos and her life felt a little emptier for it.

Jeanne clambered down the ladder and doused her hands and face with water, realising that the stern, green eyes of Athos’ wife followed her movements.  
She advanced towards her as she was heading towards the kitchens,  
“You’re Treville’s daughter then,” and she cast an obvious up and down look at Jeanne, taking in her figure and hair, and maintaining a faintly repulsed expression.  
“You’re the Captain’s wife then,” Jeanne replied, casting a similar, purposeful look at Milday, and ending with a twitch of her mouth.   
Both women stood their ground, Athos, Aramis and several other men regarded the interaction, none daring to make a sound or movement towards them.

Porthos ambled out of his room as the females continued to stand and look at each other.   
He cast a glance towards Athos and noticed his clenched fists and slightly narrowed eyes.   
It was Constance who broke the tension, coming out of the kitchens carrying bread and a jug of ale she called over to Jeanne,  
“Give me a hand, Jeanne?” and she motioned with her head as Jeanne dragged away her gaze from Milady and moved towards the trestle to clear space.  
“That’s right…..earn your keep!” Milday hissed, grinning cruelly.

Jeanne was about to retaliate when Athos’ voice interrupted, “Porthos, find D’Artagnan, we all need to leave….I have information that requires some action on our behalf.”  
Porthos cast a glance at Jeanne which she met with her own eyes.   
He saw determination and strength behind them, not simpering sorrow.   
His own eyes said ‘Are you OK? She’s a cow, ignore her!’ and she responded with a slight smirk that told him, ‘I know! She isn’t worth my energy.’  
Porthos pressed his lips into a tight lipped smile and wandered inside, shouting for D’Artagnan in his deep, resounding baritone.

Constance saw the flashed glances between them, and knowing nothing of Jeanne’s history with Athos started to get excited about the possibility that she might form some kind of attachment to Porthos.   
He was a good man, and Constance often wished he would find someone to love and appreciate him.

Jeanne and Constance drifted back inside where their mutual exhalations and sighs spoke volumes about their feelings for the other woman in their midst.  
“They’ve got to go somewhere…..something to do with the king….D’Artagnan wouldn’t tell me much, but the information has come from her,” Constance fussed about, cutting bread in much rougher slices than normal, apparently taking out some of her vexation over Milady on the poor loaf!  
“Are they all going?” Jeanne asked, glancing out at the scene in the courtyard as the musketeers and many of the older cadets were preparing to leave.  
“Not sure, but it sounded pretty serious whatever they need to do. D’Artagnan usually tells me the basics of most of their missions, but this one he said nothing. He did say it’s connected to the King’s safety though,” Constance paused and glanced in the direction of the courtyard.  
“And this information came from her? Why should they believe it?” Jeanne asked.  
Constance shrugged minimally, “She has actually saved their lives on more than one occasion in the past…..although her allegiences do tend to be somewhat fluid!”   
“Surely she wouldn’t lead them all into a trap though? Not so close to the King?” Jeanne piled potatoes into a basket for peeling and washing.  
A shake of Constance’s head ensued, “I can’t work out why she’d turn up after all this time if it wasn’t to help the King….she did used to be his mistress; I mean, if she foiled a plot to harm him she’d be in good stead once again!”  
“She was the King’s mistress? Athos had to stand by and……watch?” Jeanne asked.  
“Athos and Milday are a very long story……he thought she was dead for a long time……because he killed her!” Constance met Jeanne’s shocked stare with a raised brow.  
“Fuck!” she muttered.  
Constance smiled slightly, “And for my part in the little drama, before I married D’Artagnan, she was sleeping with him too!”  
“Bloody hell! So she isn’t exactly Little Miss Popularity!” Jeanne smirked.

D’Artagnan arrived in the doorway.  
“I’ll leave you for a moment,” Jeanne carried the basket of bread and a platter of cheese outside towards the trestle table.

Hands descended on the food almost before she’d laid it down, one of the grasping hands belonging to Porthos.  
“Is this safe?......What you are all doing?” she asked, and Porthos paused mid mouthful at the flicker of concern he saw behind her eyes.  
“Nothing’s completely safe…..but, Athos seems to think the threat could be legitimate, so we’re going to check out the location and see to anything there…..if it’s nothing at least we’ll be there guarding the King as per the job description!” he saw her eyes flick across to Milady who was mounting up her horse and kicking it, a little too harshly for her taste, to turn it. 

She turned herself to return inside, seeing that D’Artagnan was now mounting his horse. Athos she saw was descending the stairs, he flashed his eyes across to her and met her steely, controlled gaze.   
His smouldering masculinity was still evident, but she knew she had to resist it, and so she forced herself to return an impassive expression despite seeing a note of sad confusion behind his own.

“You will be careful….won’t you?” she whispered, resting her hand lightly on Porthos’ large forearm. She felt him flinch slightly at her touch, but he didn’t pull away.  
“I’m always careful……I try not to do anything without thinking it through,” he replied, and briefly covered her fingers with his own, massive palm.  
The slight squeeze he gave was warm and strong, yet definitely tender at the same time.  
She dragged that same hand across her neck and jawline as she adjusted the placement of platters on the table for want of something to occupy herself and banish the warmth she was experiencing in her stomach and cheeks.


	20. What do you do while you wait for them?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milady DID have ulterior, ulterior motives after all!  
> The boyz are off being all 'Musketeery' and the gals become damsels back in the garrison!!!  
> Who will rescue them? It is a rollicking chapter!

With a clattering of hooves most of the experienced fighters of the garrison departed, along with Milday De Winter.   
It felt unnaturally quiet.

Jeanne found Constance down in the storerooms.  
“What do you do while you wait for them?” she asked.  
Constance gave her a gaze of practised acceptance. “Wash, clean, cook, tidy……pretty much anything to stop myself from counting the hours,” and she continued moving jars of pickles around to ensure the most recently bottled were at the back of the shelves.  
Jeanne regarded her industrious attitude before leaving her and embarking on her own version of ‘time wasting’ in the stables.

She mucked out, placed fresh straw into the stalls and spent a while oiling the spare tack, her ears always alert for activity in the courtyard.  
Mid afternoon she heard it and broke into a smile as she heard hooves and masculine voices.   
She advanced towards the noise but froze when it became apparent that the voices were not speaking, but shouting; and not in English, but in Spanish.

“Shit!” she hissed, glancing around and finding no weapons to hand.   
Her own blade was up in the hayloft, in her new lodgings.   
She hastily climbed the ladder and located her belt and sword.   
She used the open casement to survey the courtyard.   
She could see at least 6 armed men, and as she watched saw 4 more appear, 2 grasping Constance roughly and the other 2 rounding up the few remaining cadets from various quarters. They were shepherding them all into the centre of the garrison courtyard and appeared to be tying their wrists with rope.

What did they want?   
There was nothing of value in the garrison.

A further clattering of hooves and a familiar figure appeared……her, Milady De Winter!

Jeanne gasped and hid further out of sight as she scanned the group of people.

“You’ve missed one…..she’ll be in the stables I bet. Find her!” she ordered.   
One of the armed men gave hurried instructions in Spanish before 4 of the men made their way towards the stables and her hiding place.

Constance watched as Athos’ wife swung down from her mount and ascended the wooden staircase to her husband’s quarters.   
Jeanne positioned herself as best she could to provide her with a clear view and opportunity to deal with the men she knew to be approaching.

She waited for 2 to stand fully within the loft, away from the ladder before she made her presence known, she dispatched both with skilful, efficiency and waited for one or more of the others to appear and try their luck. 

She heard shouted exclamations and footsteps; presumably more of the men had been sent to deal with her. Panting she waited, silently for what felt like an eternity before a further armed Spaniard appeared at the top of the ladder. She paused again behind her hiding place of straw and waited for him to leave the ladder hatch fully.   
As soon as he was a step away she pounced and after a brief flurry of blows, including a small clip to her cheek, she finished this man too with a slice to his belly.  
A fourth head appeared above the ladder and quickly dropped down again as she lunged towards it. 

She hovered close to the hatch, focussing her attention on the voices below……they were talking in loud whispers, but she couldn’t understand their Spanish.  
Too late she felt the clasping elbow around her throat and her weapon wrestled from her grip by the pair of swarthy men who had presumably clambered up through the open casement.  
She was roughly bundled down the ladder, almost falling as they shoved her along. 

Constance met her gaze – her hands and mouth were bound, as were those of the rest of the garrison and the Spaniards were piling the gunpowder stores into the small cart usually used for supplies.

So THAT was what was valuable!

They were loading up the cart with muskets and other weaponry, although most of the men had their own weapons with them, so they seemed less than pleased and were gesticulating wildly towards Milady.  
“Oh shut up! You have the powder I promised you…..now hand me the documents and get out of here!” she spat, holding her hand out firmly as the Spaniard placed several small, parchments with wax seals into her hands.

He motioned in the direction of the ‘captives’ and said something.   
She smirked and cocked her neck in the general direction, “Do whatever you like with them!” she growled and turned on her heel and left – on foot rather than horseback.

The same, slimey Spaniard approached the group of captives and grasped both Jeanne and Constance firmly; the other cadets squirming and evidently trying to show their disgust.   
Both women wriggled and kicked out, but where lifted off their feet and thrown into the cart with the gunpowder.   
Their ankles were bound like their wrists and more ties were added to shackle them to the side of the cart, the thick, oily cover thrown across them before they felt the cart move beneath them.  
Jeanne met Constance’s eyes, both were frightened, but their expressions showed determination as the most prolific emotion.   
Their eyes adjusted to the darkness and they scanned around quickly.

Jeanne’s feet were pressed against wooden casks – the gunpowder barrels.   
Constance was positioned in such a way that she could wriggle around slightly.   
Jeanne squirmed her bound ankles and was able to knock over one of the casks and drag it towards Constance’s bound hands.   
Signalling with her eyes she used her knees to steady the barrel and Constances scrabbling finger tips finally found the cork seal.   
She scratched it out and between them managed to roll the barrel so that the powder spilled out through the slatted base of the cart.   
They tried their best to restrict and modulate the flow of the powder, wanting to hopefully leave a trail to lead directly to wherever their captors were taking them.

____________________  
Athos and his men arrived back at the garrison having found nothing untoward in the remote palace outbuildings which according to Milady’s information should have concealed weapons and enough gunpowder to pose a significant threat to the King, together with at least 10 Spaniards keen to carry out an imminent attack.

The ride back had been terse and filled with tension, and on clattering into the garrison courtyard they came face to face with the bound and gagged cadets.

Athos and D’Artagnan were out of their saddles and sprinting across to the men within seconds.  
Porthos, Clemand and Aramis hastily followed, each one dragging gags and bindings from the cadets.  
“They’ve…….Constance…..and Jeanne…..took them, got them in the cart….and the powder……and Milady De Winter…..was here......didn't stop them” spluttered the first of the cadets to have his gag removed.

“What? Where have they taken them?” D’Artagnan’s voice was angry, his teeth gritted, almost shaking the poor cadet.  
Porthos ceased unfastening the young cadet he was beside and sprinted towards the stables, he noted the ladder and popped his head up, instantly scanning the space and finding the 3 corpses and scene of struggle, including Jeanne’s discarded sword.

By the time he rejoined the rest of the group they had been informed that the Spaniards had taken the cart, together with Constance and Jeanne, all the powder and any spare muskets. From what the bounds cadets could see they had travelled North upon leaving the garrison.   
It was Clemand who noticed the powder trail first.   
A group, including Aramis were scouting outside the garrison, looking for clues, asking whether anyone had noticed the cart leaving etc.

“Over here!” he shouted and rubbed the small trickle of powder between his fingers.  
“Let’s get the others and saddle up,” Aramis clapped him on the shoulder and they ran back to the garrison.   
Athos, Porthos, D’Artagnan and Aramis, together with Clemand and 5 more of the experienced cadets saddled up, weapon belts ready and followed the trail of powder. 

The ride took them out of the city limits, the powder sometimes stopped completely, only to carry on again a few hundred yards further along the route.


	21. *Jeanne endures some rather creepy attention* - just skip to the last sentence if you'd reather avoid it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit of this that is a bit sexually abusive....but I promise there is nothing truly dreadful, but Jeanne is forced to undress, she is not interfered with.  
> If you'd rather not read, skip to the last sentence and that is pretty much the only thing you need to know from the chapter.

The cart came to a standstill as the final dregs of powder had run out.   
Constance scrabbled once more, blind and feeling her way to replace the cork into the barrel – with any luck they wouldn’t notice the difference in weight. 

The stained, heavy cover was thrown back and both women squinted at the brightness.   
Jeanne could see they were at a large property, it looked pretty deserted and ram-shackle.   
The Spanish voices shouted various statements, and the women were grappled out of the cart, their ankles and wrists still tied, gags still in place. They both bucked and squirmed so much that they received harsh slaps to their cheeks and where lifted across the shoulders of two of the Spaniards.   
Jeanne felt strangely familiar in the position, although the binds around her wrists and ankles, and gag, made the situation feel less pleasurable – plus, the shoulder and back she was hanging against felt significantly less broad that the one she’d dangled against recently!

Christ, she hoped the gunpowder trail thing worked!

The women were transferred to a room located up several flights of rather creaky stairs.   
Having been tied up within the room and blind folded they were left.  
Neither woman felt that their trauma was over by any means, but evidently their captors had more pressing matters.  
Jeanne grunted as best she could to try to attract Constance’s attention.  
She received a whimpered response back, which was somehow comforting.

Some time later, it felt like a while, but neither women had any way of judging it, they heard footsteps, the creak of a door opening and a masculine aroma filled the room.   
Jeanne felt herself lifted up and her wrists felt like they were being untied.  
She heard another set of feet and an unmistakable shriek from Constance.  
“No struggles, or we hurt your friend,” a gravelly voice hissed, the breath foul smelling and heightened due to her other senses being limited.  
She nodded and forced herself to keep her arms slack.   
She felt her blindfold and gag being pulled from her and looked into the eyes of a straggly haired Spaniard, one she recognised from at the garrison earlier; she also saw Constance's blindfold ripped off, but her gag remained in place as did her bindings.  
He released her ankle ties also and dragged her out of the room and into an adjacent one next door.   
Constance was still making pleading, whimpering noises, but Jeanne flashed her a calm face….whatever this man was planning she would bear it and it may give them a little more time until hopefully her husband and the rest of the men could reach them.

Weirdly, in the next door room the Spaniard indicated a long, lace trimmed gown, “You dress, please. Slowly, I watch,” and he seated himself on a wooden chair.  
Jeanne moved across towards the gown and considered her options.   
She had been told to do this slowly, this worked in their favour. She only hoped that Constance was not being harmed in the other room.  
“My friend,” she indicated the door, “ I dress...... you not hurt her,” she pointed and gesticulated with her finger to stress her point.  
The Spaniard shouted a stream of words, seconds later the Spaniard who had been in the room with Constance appeared at the door.   
A further instruction saw him turn to face the wall, meaning that he could not harm Constance.

“So….now, you dress….for me…..nice…….slowly….all clothes you give to me,” and he ran his tongue across his lips in a disgusting manner.  
Jeanne inhaled sharply, swallowed the queasy feeling in her stomach and began to slowly remove her jacket.   
She reached out and dropped the item onto his outstretched arms and winced as he brought it to his nose, closing his eyelids as he smelled the garment.  
She continued by removing her boots, then her breeches – the disgusting nuzzling he gave them was rather sickening; but he didn’t appear to want to interfere with her, at least not yet. Maybe she could drag this ordeal out long enough to save them from further abuse.

Removing her shirt over her head caused the man to spit out a string of Spanish and he almost licked the garment once she added it to the pile in his arms.   
He was disgusting, but as long as he was side tracked by her clothing she could at least glance around and look for some form of escape....but the room contained no other means of exit, except for a window....which was clearly incredibly high up.

Standing in just her chemise and bloomers made her feel incredibly exposed, but she controlled her breathing and was able to remove first her chemise then her bloomers.   
She almost dreaded what he was going to do to them, however he somewhat reverently laid each item on the floor boards, carefully positioning them as if she were still wearing them.  
Jeanne picked up the gown; it was rather beautiful she noted, lace adorning the wide neckline and the sleeves, and pleat upon pleat of soft fabric falling to the ground. She slipped it over her head and stood with her hands clenching and flexing at her sides, glad to be covered.

“Your hair must be not fastened,” her captor commanded, and she removed the piece of calico fastening it, giving her head a slight shake to leave her tresses tumbling across her shoulders and back.  
He looked at her for several minutes, almost trance like, and she began to wonder what dreadful ordeal would occur next, but then he stood up briskly and pushed her back through the door into the room where Constance was still tied and bound.   
She flashed her a look of slight bewilderment; she’d assumed that she would have been raped, or mistreated in some way, they had both thought as much.  
She had her wrists and ankles bound again, and the gag replaced, but not her blindfold, and she was fastened once more to the ceiling beam to prevent her escape.  
Her caputor retired into the adjacent room, dismissed the other guard and the women heard a number of bizarre, muffled noises – Lord only knows what he was doing to or with Jeanne’s clothing! 

____________

The trail clearly lead them to the abandoned property.   
They dismounted and surveyed it from a distance.   
They could see six men, all armed with muskets and blades.   
They could also see the building itself, there were several floors; Constance and Jeanne could be anywhere within it.

They quickly formulated a plan – Aramis and Porthos with 2 men making their way around to the back of the building from a safe distance. They would give a signal to indicate any further men or issues.

The atmosphere between D’Artagnan and his Captain was strained.   
Both men knew the part Milady had played in all of this, and also knew that Constance’s life was at stake; as was Jeanne’s.

A short while later a clear ‘raven’s call’ rung out.   
“Three cries. So…..2 men, no visible sighting of the women,” Athos mumbled. “So, as per the plan. We go on my signal, ready?”  
The men with him nodded and scampered towards the house, keeping low and covered by the trees and undergrowth.  
Porthos and Aramis were doing the same thing at the rear of the building.   
Once in position to attack they waited for Athos’ command.

After a few minutes they heard a rumbling roar of “NOW!” and surged forwards, Porthos dispatched one of the 2 guards instantly with his musket, Aramis hit the casement with his shot, but charged into the building to locate the man he had missed.   
Out at the front, all of the Spaniards were occupied or dead and D’Artagnan was seething through the building shouting for his wife.

The 2 women had obviously heard the commotion and gave each other comforting smiles, although they were well aware that their friend was still in the adjacent room. They could hear him charging around, but could also hear D’Artagnan’s voice getting closer, and now it was combined with Porthos’ deep, rumbling tones.

Both women tried to shout, and Jeanne was able to kick her bound ankles against the floorboards, although with her feet bare there was limited noise.  
They heard a skirmish in the adjoining room and Jeanne saw the figure of D’Artagnan flash across the doorway, battling against the ‘Perverted Spaniard’.   
Seconds later Porthos burst in through the other doorway and swooped down on them both, removing their gags and slicing through their rope confines with his dagger deftly, as his eyes roved across them for signs of possible interference, noting Jeanne’s clothes and gritting his teeth at the thoughts of what they could mean, what she might have been forced to do before they arrived.

“Get out of here, down those stairs, now,” he commanded and both women limped down the staircase, as quickly as they could on their slightly numb limbs, and in Jeanne's case, bare feet, move.  
They found their way outside and sought shelter close to the horses, both women reasoning that they would need to make an escape at some point, with or without the musketeers.

A short while later they emerged, all none the worse for wear, a few scratches and bloodied noses from the cadets and a tear in D’Artagnan’s breeches.  
He approached his wife and held her tightly, Constance reassuring him that all was well and that she had been unharmed.

Athos looked across at Jeanne, longing to check on her welfare, his fists clenching at the thought of what she’d been forced to endure.   
And Jeanne crossed the short distance, holding back tears, but falling into the waiting, tender arms…  
.....of Porthos.


	22. I'm going nowhere.....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne moves towards Porthos....who is a true gent.....despite his amorous thoughts.

Porthos held her gently, but not as if she would break, and pressed soft ‘shhhh’ sounds against her ear, careful to avoid touching the expanse of skin visible above her delicate and thin robe.  
“Will you take me back to the garrison with you…..please?” she asked, and Porthos lifted her to ride in his arms, her legs dangling across his left thigh, keeping a steady pace and feeling the tension finally start to leave her body as she relaxed against the expanse of his chest.

Athos sidled his mount beside Porthos as they approached the city again.  
“You heard what Girou said…..your wife was mentioned…..you know she had something to do with this……Christ knows what they made her do….look at her,” Porthos indicated the limp, flimsily clad figure in his arms.  
Athos had the grace to look embarrassed and somewhat tortured.

“I…..I thought I could trust her,” he mumbled, and stopped himself from reaching out a hand to trace a tendril of Jeanne's hair away from her face.  
“Yeah, well……you can’t….and you can’t let her put other people in danger again,” and Porthos had increased his pace slightly to remove himself from Athos’ company.  
This hurt Athos possibly more than anything.   
His comrades’ opinion mattered to him, their respect for him as Captain was one thing, but their respect for him as a friend mattered more, and Porthos seemed to have neither at that moment.

Back at the garrison Aramis assisted Porthos in getting Jeanne down from Porthos’s horse gently. She whimpered and reached out for his reassuring bulk when parted from him.  
“She should bathe,” Constance suggested.  
Porthos however shook his head, “She’s exhausted, she needs to sleep. She can bathe tomorrow,” and he scooped her boneless body into his arms, meeting the twitching jaw of Athos’ glare with a darkly sinister glare of his own.  
“I’ll send some warm water, she at least needs to wash her feet…..they took her boots and we ran across the ground…..she may have cuts,” Constance explained, “Do it for her Porthos if she can’t do it herself…..and try to make her drink some honey’d wine.”  
Porthos nodded and tenderly carried Jeanne across to his room, ducking under the arched doorway and placing her down onto the mattress carefully.

Jeanne stirred and opened frightened eyes.   
Porthos knelt beside the bed and stroked her golden tresses gently away from her eyes.  
“You’re safe……it’s all alright now,” and he dipped his face closer to her, “I’m just getting some wine for you.”  
“Don’t go away for long,” her voice quivered.  
He softly kissed the top of her head, “I’ll be back in the blink of an eye,” he whispered and moved across to the other side of his chamber to pour a glass of wine before opening the door, intending to fetch honey from the garrison kitchens, but just outside the door, waiting for him was a jug of hot water, a fresh linen cloth and a pot of honey with a further bottle of wine; which he knew was from Athos’ personal stores.

He mixed honey into the wine and advanced back to Jeanne, her eyelids had closed, but they flew open wide when she felt the mattress dip as he sat on it.  
“Shhhh, shhh, it’s alright. It’s just me, Porthos. Now, I need you to drink this,” and he gently coaxed her to sit up slightly.   
Initially he pressed the goblet against her lips himself, peering into her eyes and seeing them become less terrified after a few sips.   
Jeanne had been in similar scrapes in the past, and had certainly had her life threatened; but something about the events today had scared her. She felt like she had more to lose now, somehow.....she couldn't explain why.  
Porthos then encouraged her to grasp the cup herself, curling her small hands around the cup with his own massive yet tender palm.

“Good, now you carry on drinking that, you’re doing really well. And I’m going to clean you up a bit, only your feet, don’t worry,” he added as she flinched away from his touch fractionally.  
Jeanne seemed to notice her dress and bare feet, “They hurt,” she sniffed.

Porthos reached and cradled one of her small feet in his hand, realising that the length of one matched the other.   
He took the cloth and dipped it in the water jug, carefully applying the fabric to her skin, washing away dust and dirt and flicking some small gravel from where it was embedded, a few pieces of which had broken the skin.  
She flinched and whimpered slightly as the water met raw cuts, but he was as tender as could be cleaning each one, completely focussed on the task.  
He repeated the action on her other foot, which had similar, small injuries, but none which were concerning. 

“Let me get some salve,” he gently explained once he was satisfied with the cleanliness of her frankly beautiful toes.   
He crossed again, out of her reach and once more she whimpered for his loss beside her, but he was swiftly back, and he applied a small amount of sage scented balm to each of the small cuts.  
“There, all done,” he whispered. “Now, you need to sleep,” he stated, removing the now empty cup from her tight grasp. “Lie down and I’ll tuck you in.”

Jeanne’s eyes followed him as he placed the balm and cup onto his stand, “Don’t go away,” she murmured.  
Porthos inhaled deeply and slowly; every fibre of his being wanted to curl himself around the frightened woman in his bed…..but he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to let her go in the morning.

“Please Porthos,” was all she said, the fading light and the way her golden hair was fanned across his pillow was breathtaking, as was the honest and innocent look she gave him….and he knew he could never deny her anything.

“Alright……but I’m still tucking you in,” and he removed his boots, belts and jacket and slid beside her on his narrow bed.   
His size meant that there was little choice in how to position themselves.   
His arms cradled her close to his chest, the cover across her alone; that thin layer of fabric a barrier in more than one necessary way.

“Thank you, Porthos,” she whispered, and nestled her face against the reassuringly strong and masculine warmth of his chest, her hands curled into fists, but slackening upon resting against him. His own large hands were splayed against her waist and hip, carefully above the covers, but he couldn’t prevent himself from stroking his thumbs in slow, languid circles against her slender form.

“Please stay until I wake up,” he heard her utter, shifting her face to look up at him through alluringly lowered eyelashes.  
“I’m going nowhere…..sleep,” and for whatever the reason he pressed his lips against the soft skin of her forehead, lingering for longer than was appropriate, but receiving a breathy groan of appreciation together with a relaxing of her hands against him.

Porthos waited until he was certain she was asleep before he dropped his head back onto the pillow and slept.

 

It wasn’t dawn when he was awakened by Jeanne shifting and twitching beside him.   
He was alert instantly, but she was still asleep; whimpering and mumbling something incomprehensible to him.  
Porthos tightened his arms around her slight body and made soothing noises close to her ear, her incredibly feminine scent invaded his senses, and combined with the feel of her soft curves pressing against him it was all he could do to focus on the fact that she was clearly in distress.

After a few moments though she inhaled sharply and opened her eyes, staring up at the comforting bulk of Porthos, smiling against his chest as he continued to whisper soothing sounds and stroke her hair.  
“Did you have a bad dream?” Porthos murmured, the sound reverberating through his chest.  
Jeanne squirmed further up onto the pillow and nodded, inhaling deeply.   
The sensation of her breath against his cheek as she rested her face on the pillow was highly erotic.

She gave a small smile, “Not from today……stuff from a long time ago, haven’t thought about it in a long time,” she explained softly.  
“Well, whatever it is, you’re safe now…..I’m staying right here…..’cos I’m comfy now,” Porthos smiled.   
Jeanne noticed how his sleepy eyes looked like sparkling beads of jet as the slimmest of moons illuminated the room.

“Are you warm enough? You’re not under the covers,” Jeanne realised.

Porthos shifted slightly; having purposefully placed the cover between their bodies he had become slightly cool, especially since removing his jacket.   
And even being nestled close to Jeanne his back and shoulders were, he realised, somewhat chilly.  
He was about to protest and say that he was fine when Jeanne pre-empted him and began loosening the cover from around her and wrapping it around Porthos’ shoulders.   
The action caused her to press incredibly close to his chest, an overwhelming aroma of his masculine, musky scent invaded her nostrils and made her whimper slightly.  
Porthos steadied her slightly with his palm against the small of her back,  
“Thanks,” he whispered, he certainly felt warmer, but he wasn’t sure it was anything connected to the blanket!


	23. I think you might have to be a lot more obvious than that!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne and Athos have the discussion which needs to take place.  
> Jeanne finds Porthos more and more tempting and attractive....although he is still on his best behaviour towards Treville's daughter!  
> Constance talks sense to Jeanne.....and she decided to do something about it.

Things were strained in the garrison for a couple of weeks.  
Athos tried to meet Jeanne’s gaze, she tried to avoid his company; he noted Porthos’ attentiveness towards her, and also how her eyes searched for him and smiled when they saw him….and he knew that he’d lost her.

Milday had caused him to lose a lot throughout his life…..she’d been responsible for him gaining the life he currently had rather than remain as the Comte De La Fere, but he’d lost his brother; his sanity for a while, and now he’d lost Jeanne.

He happened across Jeanne as she was returning from some expedition; grasping her reins to force her into an interaction with him.  
“Jeanne! Talk to me!” he hissed as she dismounted and made to leave his company.  
He shot out his other arm and grasped her roughly and almost desperately around her wrist.   
Something made her relent and she slumped slightly, daring her eyes to find his.

The sight of his green eyes was almost her undoing, but she stole herself to remain where she was, twisting her face slightly to replace his masculine scent with the aroma of the horse.

“You should have told me you were married,” she said, calmly.  
Athos had the good grace to flinch before replying, “It’s complicated.”  
Jeanne snorted slightly, “You don’t say!”  
“Look….what happened between us….it just crept up on me…and I wanted it to work…..it still can…,” he hastily stopped talking when he saw the flash of anger behind Jeanne’s eyes.  
“Fine….I’ll go and shag D’Artagnan shall I?” Jeanne postulated.  
“Well, no…because he’s….”  
“Go on!….finish the statement Athos! Because he’s married!” Jeanne almost triumphantly hissed, although there was nothing to celebrate about the situation.

“He’s happily married…..there’s a difference,” Athos whispered, and looked at her through confused and slightly pained eyes.  
“There isn’t a difference to God. Married means married. Athos, you’re married, so you belong to someone else. Now let me take my horse to the stables,” she again spoke calmly, she’d had enough time to consider what she would say, and she felt relieved almost to have got it out.

“So now you’re with Porthos?” Athos asked, handing across her reins, but not letting go of the leather straps. He looked slightly deflated and resigned.  
She blushed slightly, it punched the breath from his lungs in the same way that the look he had given Milady did her.  
“No…..he’s just being kind,” Jeanne flushed, although she knew that her own feelings towards the huge hulk of a man were beginning to have slightly blurred edges.  
Athos gave a rueful smile, “Of course he is,” he chuckled slightly, although the noise was not reflected in his facial expression. “He’s a good man,” he mentally added, ‘far better than me.’   
She twisted away from him, hiding the redness in her cheeks, leading her horse towards the stables to remove it’s saddle.  
“Your father would approve, I think,” he added and jerked his head in the direction of where Porthos was schooling the cadets in hand to hand combat, and this time the smile did manage to find it’s way to his lips, although not quite to his eyes.

 

Porthos and Jeanne had been sharing his small room for 16 nights.   
16 long and increasingly frustrating nights!   
Each night, Jeanne removed her day to day clothes and wore the same gown she had been given in the encounter with the Spaniards.   
The encounter had been odd and slightly uncomfortable, but the gown was exquisite, and certainly far too beautiful to allow sentimentality and squeamishness to get in the way.  
Each night, Porthos would remove his jacket and boots and climb into the narrow bunk, pressing her slender body as close to his as possible; a necessity given his frame and the size of the mattress.  
And each night he would be lulled to sleep by her ever increasingly deep breaths against his neck, praying that his body wouldn’t give away his emotions. 

He’d managed to wake before her each morning thus far; which combined with the fact that he wore his thick, leather breeches to sleep in managed to ensure that she never stirred next to the stiffness he invariably woke with.   
He was also able to press a small kiss to her forehead and extricate his hands from her waist, or hips, or thighs, or hair…or on one occasion his own cock!  
But he was beginning to find the barrier he’d built up between them crumble…..he was starting to forget why he couldn’t have her.

Yes, she was Treville’s daughter…..but he was Porthos du Vallon; Treville had respected him, liked him, trusted him….yeah, maybe that last one was a bit moot!  
She was clearly no longer with Athos….his wife had kind of sealed the envelope on that one, and she was gorgeous!  
He watched her go about her daily routine, she was strong, practical, intelligent, witty and had he mentioned that she was fucking gorgeous?!

At the same time, Jeanne was finding her attraction towards Porthos deepen, and each morning that she secretly woke up before him and kissed his soft lips, parted in repose was another which she told herself would be the last before she told him how she felt.

But, he knew about Athos; she didn’t want him to think he was just another notch on her belt! (although part of her loved that concept as a reversal of the norm!)  
She watched him each day as she went about her routine in the stables; she often carried out additional little jobs so that she could be closer to him; and even Constance seemed to be assisting in ‘match-making’ – she would frequently ask Porthos to collect the grain supplies with Jeanne; or would ask Jeanne to collect the wine supplies with Porthos.

She was beginning to wonder why he wasn’t making any movements towards her.   
She was certainly making it obvious that she was interested.   
At least she felt she was, as she confided in Constance :  
“I mean, I couldn’t sleep any closer to him, and I always give an extra squirm ….you know….there….and even through his trousers there is definite….well, solidness!” Jeanne huffed, munching on a carrot as she ‘helped’ Constance preparing meat to fill the little pasties that D’Artagnan loved so much.  
“Look, this is Porthos! I think you might have to be a lot more obvious than that!” she grinned. “Kiss him….that’s my advice. Have a few drinks at the tavern, walk home with him and when you’re all alone, snog his face off….who knows, that might make him think you might possibly like him!”

Jeanne considered Constance’s advice.   
Yes….she had to do something; it wasn’t as though she could relieve herself very easily now she was sharing his quarters….although the hayloft was still an option, as she’d thought when she saw Porthos descending the ladder the previous day (presumably he’d been rearranging the bales up there!)

It was Friday evening at the garrison, traditionally the evening each week when a visit to the taverns of Paris occurred.   
Jeanne and Constance frequently shared bathing in the relative sanctity of the married women’s quarters, and after a cleansing and fragrant bathe Jeanne dressed in her usual clothes, (she had replaced the items lost in the Spanish attack, but retained her preference of breeches rather than skirts!) but she added a pale blue coloured ribbon to her braid and fastened her chemise a little tighter, giving an extra boost to her pert bosom and an enticing cleft of creamy skin visible at the neckline of her shirt.

Porthos had taken to bathing more frequently himself.   
He took himself to the heated baths just outside the garrison at least each week.   
It gave him an opportunity to remove all of his clothes – sleeping in his breeches was only really possible if he kept on top of his bodily hygiene!   
He had visited the baths that afternoon after a particularly taxing ride the previous day on musketeer business….and a particularly taxing contemplation about the view of Jeanne bending over to clean out a water barrel, in the hayloft….which had made him think about her in the hayloft….and well!......the inevitable had taken place all over a handily placed bale of hay!

 

Jeanne had accompanied Clemand and a few of the younger cadets, together with Constance and D’artagnan to the tavern they preferred – the one which had been the scene of her complete drunken stupor after Milady turned up – and by the time Porthos and Aramis turned up, along with Athos and the rest of the cadets, the group had already downed the first cups of wine and ale, and were playing a drinking game based on recalling a list of random objects from the garrison and adding a new one each time.

It was Jeanne’s turn to recount the items as the others joined the table, Porthos seated himself as close to Jeanne as he was able; although Clemand and D’Artagnan had claimed the places directly either side of her.  
Her brow wrinkled as she started to struggle, having reeled off 9 of the things on the list:  
“…and a barrel of black powder; a bowl of apples; Aramis’ horse; a blanket; Porthos’ pauldron AND, a freshly laundered napkin!” she shrieked, causing Constance, D’Artagnan and several others to spit out their drinks and raise a toast to her for her successful completion of the round.

It was D’Artagnan’s turn and he succeeded too, adding ‘a potato’ onto the list, which created even more sniggering from those who knew the relevance of the vegetable linked to the previous item in then list.  
As Porthos was next he had the challenge of playing along despite only hearing the list twice.   
He made a valiant effort, but screamed in frustration after forgetting what followed the bowl of apples.

“DRINK!” the table erupted, and he downed his cup of wine, wiping several drips of the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand.  
Constance heard the growl in Jeanne’s chest from her position next to Clemand and poked her around his back, waggling her eyebrows and pursing her lips in an image of amusing seduction…..which caused Jeanne to wrinkle her nose and laugh further, flailing out her arm as she almost slipped from her stool.

The game continued for several more rounds, until everyone (apart from Athos, who seemed to be able to recall all of the items, regardless of how bizarre they became!) had drunk a forfeit.


	24. Are you still pretty desperate for my lips?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and Jeanne finally snog! YAY!

Jeanne, as usual having drunk enough to become relaxed, was also now highly entertaining.   
She had a knack for mimicking the actions and facial expressions of others in the bar – close enough for those watching to howl at, but always managing to avoid the gaze of the target – sometimes her wild methods of covering up her antics so as not to be caught were more hilarious than the mirroring itself!  
She easily had the gang of cadets and musketeers laughing and falling about as she turned her attention towards Luc, the owner of the inn.  
She copied and exaggerated the familiar way he jutted his neck when he was making a point; the way he scratched his head and screwed up both mouth and eyes whilst still maintaining a conversation and how he nodded precisely three times each time he wanted to show agreement with something he hadn’t quite heard over the general noise of the tavern.  
She had kept this routine up for some time, the cadets and musketeers becoming increasingly helpless in their amusement.   
Each time Luc glanced across she feigned some other action or interest – she even had several other unknowing souls staring up at the ceiling on one occasion, swearing that along with her they could see a stain that looked just like a chestnut tree!  
Finally though, the game was up, and Luc caught Jeanne as she was pulling the same face as his; scratting at her arse with lip clasped between teeth. 

She froze as he shouted at her, throwing a wet cloth in her direction, making to chase her around the bar, as the tavern fell about roaring with laughter around them.  
She was caught when Aramis and D’Artagnan barred her exit with gleeful, raised eyes, and Luc grabbed her full off her feet, Jeanne squealing more in amusement than fear and begging for forgiveness as Luc’s grasp on her began to falter as she wriggled against his rather rotund belly.

The final straw for him came when Jeanne was able to twist her neck around. Pressing her mouth to his cheek she blew a rasping, reverberating raspberry against it, and added:   
“Darling Luc, forgive me…..you have served me too much wine!”

He had started to shake and giggle slightly at her backside squirming against his body, but the feel of her soft lips creating such a lewd sound close to his ear finished him off and he loosened his grip on her as he began to fully shake with mirth.  
“You’ll do that once too often young lady! Get away with ya’!” and he returned to his bar, shaking his head and glancing back to check that she was no longer mocking him.

She wasn’t.   
But she did need to make use of the charming bucket which had been provided for pretty much hers and Constance’s use!

Once she returned several of the cadets, plus D’Artagnan and Constance had drifted off, and Aramis and Athos were engaging in a game of cards together.   
Porthos was still seated at the large table along with Clemand and a couple of the friendlier local residents.  
He smiled warmly as Jeanne returned, she saw a fresh bottle of wine on the table.

“Where did that come from? I wasn’t going to have anymore,” she sighed and puffed out her cheeks, sitting astride the wooden bench and fondling the bottle absently.   
Porthos chuckled his deep, throaty laugh….it was a sound which caused small fireworks to explode within her now. “Your friend Luc sent it over….to show he doesn’t hold no grudge!”

Jeanne smiled, her nose wrinkled deliciously and it was all Porthos could do to stop himself from reaching across and bringing his lips to hers.

She indicated the bottle and somewhat girlishly waited while he filled her glass.   
He was about to place the cork back in when she shook her head and grabbed Porthos’ tankard, which was now empty of ale.  
“I want to share,” she grinned, and waited while he poured some for himself.  
He drank a large mouthful, as did Jeanne.

“I’m glad to be drinking his wine…..makes me feel better about how envious I am of him,” Porthos said, a rueful smirk twisting his lips.  
“Why should you be envious of Luc?” Jeanne asked, innocently.  
“You mean apart from the fact that he had you wriggling against him in his arms?” Porthos murmured, dropping his gaze to the crackling fire.

Jeanne noted the scar to his left eye in the glow from the flames, “I wriggle in your arms every morning Porthos!” she purred, settling closer to him on the wooden bench.  
He growled slightly in his chest, “But you don’t kiss my cheek like you did to Luc,” he smirked, his dark eyes twinkling.  
“I blew a raspberry on his cheek…..not exactly a kiss!” Jeanne quipped, smiling in an alluring fashion.

Porthos twisted slightly to face her, “Your lips were on him……where I’m sitting it doesn’t matter what you do with ‘em……I’m just pretty desperate for yours to be on me,” and he maintained his smouldering stare on her face and saw the flicker of desire flash across her eyes.  
“Then why are we still here?” she locked onto his gaze as she stood and picked up his weapon belt which was discarded on the table behind her.

From their position at the card table Aramis and Athos noticed the pair rise and head towards the exit; the change in their body language was fairly evident and Aramis nudged Athos’ knee beneath the table with his own and raised a brow somewhat lasciviously.  
Athos concealed his inner torment….he was well practised in it afterall….but couldn’t bring himself to share in the amused banter.

Once outside the tavern Jeanne waited until the door closed behind Porthos before turning and pulling him by the hand in the direction of the garrison.   
She felt his tug on her fingers after several steps and she turned towards him where he had paused.

“Are you still pretty desperate for my lips?” Jeanne asked, moving closer towards him, their hands releasing each other as they grazed across leather instead.  
Porthos dipped his head slightly and almost growled his response, “It’s becoming desperately desperate I’d say.”  
“Oh,” breathed Jeanne, and standing on tiptoes pressed her hands to his chest, bringing her lips to his neck, jawline and cheek before he tilted down and captured her lips with his own.

His lips were firm and purposeful, slanted across hers and moving in rippling waves.   
He swallowed her muffled sob and brought one hand around to cup the back of her small skull and press her more determinedly against his mouth.

Jeanne was returning the fervour in his lips, and it was she who opened her mouth, and her tongue that slid against his first.   
By this stage his other hand was pressing against the small of her back, crushing her against his firm, broad body. Her hands had discovered his neck and hair and were raking against his scalp, creating a unique style to his thick, luscious curls.  
They still had their mouths fused together, tongues delving and exploring, teeth nipping and grazing and their breath was coming hard and fast, sounding ridiculously loud in the deserted alleyway.

It was Porthos who forced himself back from her ravenous kiss; panting hard and resting his forehead against hers.  
“We should…..defnitely get back to the garrison,” he panted, huskily.  
She nodded and whimpered slightly in response and he almost dragged her along the alleyway, following the quickest route back to his quarters.


	25. Kiss it better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this is a rather long and delicious one....in more ways than one!  
> Settle down for Porthos and Jeanne : the seduction of the century!

There were always cadets around in the yard, but they were all used to seeing Porthos and Jeanne together – most assumed they had been lovers for some time – however they released their grip on one another’s hands in order to cross to his room as if they were back to being friends.

Once through the door however they made up for the brief time their hands had left each other.   
Porthos turned Jeanne and pressed her against the door, kissing her with fevered passion again, his hands carding through her hair and pulling out the blue ribbon to allow the curtain of golden hair to fall around her face.   
He buried his head in her neck, simultaneously lifting her so that he didn’t have to stretch down.   
She wrapped her legs around his waist and crossed them around his back, feeling him grin and grunt against her neck, his teeth and lips exploring and finding all manner of delicious spots of sensitivity.

“Oh, God….Porthos……I really want you,” she sobbed, finding a small degree of relief rubbing against the buckle of his weapons belt.  
“Bed,” he murmured against her ear and rather unceremoniously dropped her to the floor in his haste to tear off his belt, jacket and boots.  
Jeanne giggled at the jolt and wasted no time removing her own boots and jacket.  
Porthos yanked her across to where he was still standing by grasping her by the waistband of her breeches.   
He kept his hand tucked beneath the fabric and slid it round, tucking his thumb inside the material and splaying his large, incredibly firm hand against her backside.  
With his other hand he lifted her chin gently and sucked on her upper lip, finally sliding his hand down to graze across her breasts and find the fastening on her breeches.

She followed his lead and moved both of her hands to tackle the fastenings on his breeches, knowing that he did not wear braies beneath and that she would find his nakedness before he found hers.  
Partway into unfastening them she stopped and instead pulled the linen of his shirt from where it was still tucked in, sliding her hands under and across the mixture of smooth, muscled skin on his back, peppered with gnarled scars, and the tightly curled hair on his chest which felt remarkably soft and springy to her fingers.

Porthos groaned at the sensation of finally feeling her small hands exploring his body and became eager to know her nakedness.   
He could recall what she looked like – that image of her standing before him in the bathhouse was etched on his memory – but now he wanted to touch, lick, stroke and caress those curves and undulations.  
He pulled at her linen shirt and dragged it quickly over her head.   
Her small chemise was tightly laced and exposed the creamy mounds of her breasts.   
He knew the darker, rose pink nipples were barely concealed by it and grazed his fingertips across the edge of the fabric, eliciting a delightfully uncontrolled gasp from Jeanne.

He dipped his head, realised it was too far to bend, and instead guided her back towards the bed, lifting her with one arm when they were close so that he could lay her gently down with her hair fanning out across the pillow.  
“Do you want me?” he asked softly, his eyes heavy with desire, kneeling to bend close to her ear.

His hot breath against her neck almost finished her off; the feel of his skin under her hands as she’d explored beneath his shirt and his kisses on her lips had aroused her beyond measure.   
She’d realised that she wanted him so gradually, but now that he finally asked her response was instant.  
“Yes…..I want all of you, Porthos,” and she draped her hands around his neck, pulling him towards her to deliver a searching, passion fuelled kiss which quickly became messy with teeth and tongues clashing out of sheer need and enthusiasm. 

Porthos’ hands roamed across her visible flesh, the smoothness of her arms neck and the expanse of creamy flesh visible above her chemise.   
His large hands were the right level of insistent as they grazed and splayed over her breasts, his thumb delved into the soft cleft between them and dragging it nails side down he glanced it across her hardening nipples below the fabric.

“Can I see you naked…again,” he smiled, “I’m sure I’ve been picturing you right all this time….but I’d love to get a second look, and study you in more detail.” His lips caressed the skin of her jaw as he spoke, nibbling slightly with his teeth and causing Jeanne to release an exquisite, to his ears, sob.  
She pushed him away from her and twisted her hands to tackle the ties of her bodice, but he shook his head and swiftly rolled her to lie on her front, casting his large, flat palm down across her back from the nape of her neck to her buttocks.   
She was still wearing her partially unfastened breeches, and he now slid his hands more purposefully beneath the waistband, giving a gentle tug to inform her of his intentions.

By way of response, she arched up onto her knees slightly, allowing him to pull them over her bottom and then lowered herself as he removed them fully from her beautiful legs.   
He ran one hand slowly and deliberately back up her leg, from her foot, across her shapely calf and up her thigh, continuing over the flimsy fabric of her underwear to cross to the other cheek of her arse and repeat the procedure but downwards on her other leg.  
With her arms cross beneath her, Jeanne let out a glorious whimper and wriggled.

“Am I tickling you?” Porthos asked, loving the reaction he was receiving to just touching her glorious skin, and adoring how it felt.  
Jeanne shook her head, making her hair fall across her face. Her eyes peering at him from beneath her lashes and strands of honey-gold was incredibly erotic to him and he found that the hand which was working it’s way back up her thigh wanted to dip beneath her short pantaloons.   
He slid his fingers under the fabric, hitching his thumb above to ensure that he couldn’t rush and spoil the deliciously slow build up to knowing her body.  
His finger tips reached the delicious crevice between her arse and he tantalised it with a flutter of finger tips before he withdrew his hand, feeling her hips buck lightly back against him.

He moved his position, from kneeling on the stone floor beside the bed frame.   
As he knelt up to move she lashed out a hand at his torso and captured the fabric of his shirt.  
“Off……please,” she gasped, clasping her full, lower lip in her teeth.   
Porthos grasped the fabric by it’s hem, his hands crossed over, and dragged the garment over his head and off, bringing his dark nipples close to her mouth as he arched himself up and back down to remove the shirt fully.  
He tossed it aside and stayed where he was for a moment, enjoying the sultry look Jeanne cast across his now exposed chest.

God he was broad….and muscular….and scarred….and beautiful!

She pursed her lips, and flailed out her hand towards his chest, he smirked and leant back slightly so that only her finger tips could graze his tightly coiled, springy chest hair.  
More gracefully than one would imagine for a man his size, he crawled around to the base of the bedframe, knelt and manoeuvred himself upwards, pinning her to the mattress with his knees either side of hers and his chest pressing lightly against her back.  
The leather and fastenings of his breeches felt cold against her skin and she shivered but ground back against him, and unmistakable firmness evident beneath the material.

She felt his face nuzzle into the nape of her neck as he pushed pack off her slightly with his powerful arms.  
Jeanne was growing wetter and was desperate for some relief but the long, slow, drawn out pleasure of Porthos’ caresses were heaven….and very different to the hard, passionate and hungry sex she’d shared with Athos – and many other encounters in her past.

She sighed as she felt his large fingers deftly working on the laces to her chemise.   
He pulled the ribbon free from the garment completely so that he could open it fully, letting each piece of fabric fall to the sides, exposing an uninterrupted swath of her creamy skin.  
His palm pressed up and down against her back, his thumb toying lightly with the cleft of her arse beneath her pantaloons on the downstroke.   
Jeanne heard the hitch to his already irregular breathing and pressed up on her elbows to allow the straps of her chemise to fall away, allowing Porthos the opportunity to pull it from under her and cast it to the floor. 

Porthos had knelt back and was resting on his knees, either side of her hips, his achingly hard erection pressing against his leather breeches and her buttocks which were still covered by the flimsy fabric of her underwear.  
Sliding his hands around her waist he palmed them upwards to engulf each of her breasts, pressed into the mattress.   
She arched slightly to allow him access and moaned throatily as his firm fingers splayed around her plump breasts, teasing her nipples into hard pearls and tugging on them exquisitely.

Porthos matched Jeanne in terms of growling desire, and maintaining his position, slipped one of his hands down, across her deliciously indented belly button and continued to the ties of her pantaloons.   
He tugged firmly and released the fastening before dipping his hand below and gliding against her soft thatch of hair, slipping his fingers between her legs and cupping her warm, wet sex with his wide fingers.  
The sound of his exhalation and groan was impossibly erotic, causing Jeanne to grind against his hand and pull against the fingers still toying impressively with her taut nipple.

“Porthos……pleeeaase!” she sobbed.  
“Not yet,” he breathed, huskily, “Every single thought about him has to be out of your head……..I want you to want me….and only me,” he punctuated his comments with tweaks to her nipple, undulations of his hand and palm against her core and grinds of his neediness against her arse.

Jeanne was at a loss to try to explain that she could only think about how she was feeling right now, right this moment and that no man in her past had made her feel this way…..but she was willing to allow him to do whatever he needed to reassure himself of her desire for him….as long as he kept making her feel this way.

With some degree of difficulty Porthos dragged his hand away from her breast and moved his other to quite aggressively pull down her underwear.   
She was still face down on the bed, but as he straddled her she was able to arch her pert backside up to enable him to remove the garment fully.   
Before she had chance to lower her hips he thrust one of his hands between her legs from behind and slid his fingers dexterously against her slick folds, finding her clit with the tips of his fingers and dragging her wetness to cover her sensitive core.  
His panting breaths matched the action of his fingers as they rubbed languorously against her and he gasped as she squirmed her arse back and into his thrusting fingers, almost pulling herself up onto all fours in order to try to satisfy her need.

“Ooohhhh, Porthos…..please I need more of you,” she sobbed, desperate for him to enter her, but he steadfastly circled his digits against her, leaving her frustrated and wanting.  
She felt the bed dip and his hand left her, making her whimper and twitch at the loss of him, but she felt both of his hands grasp her hips, pulling her higher and parting her legs, then his mouth was in her wetness, sucking the air from her lungs with the ferocity of the sucking he was giving her slick lips.  
His muffled groans were rapturous as he enjoyed licking and nuzzling into her slippery muskiness.   
His arms were holding her firm, wide and steady as he seemed to find the perfect combination of rhythm and pressure against her.   
She almost screamed out when he pressed his tongue firmly inside her, desperately wanting to tighten her thighs around his face, feeling the added sensation of his rough stubble adding to the glorious delight he was giving her, but his grip was strong and refused to allow her legs to close, in fact he pulled her wider as she relaxed into him.

One hand shifted and she screamed out again as he removed his tongue and replaced it with one of his thick fingers, curling it inside her, stroking her rippled walls and seeking the magical spot within her which he knew would leave her soundless.  
He was completely carried away with desire and pleasure by now, loving how easily she gave herself to him, how delightful it was to feel her unravelling against him, and how perfect she tasted in his mouth.  
He glanced down and noticed that she had twisted one of her arms beneath herself and was pleasuring her own breast with the fingers, rolling and plucking her hard, puckered nipple firmly and insistently in time with the thrust of his now two fingers slotted inside her.

He could make her cum so easily….but he ceased and flipped her over.  
“Who do you want to fuck you?” he growled, tugging at the fastenings on his breeches as she writhed and continued to toy with her breast beneath him, trying vainly to find any relief between her legs, but finding none with Porthos’ knees keeping her thighs parted.  
He was looking at her fully naked, open and glistening with her own juices and was battling to remain in control.

Jeanne clasped her lip between her teeth, panting her response, “Porthos….only you Porthos….I want you filling my cunt….and fucking me,” she gazed down and sobbed afresh as his cock sprang free from the restraint of his breeches.   
She'd of course seen it once before, but somehow it seemed larger and more intimidating in the half light of the room.   
She reached out to encircle it with her small hand as he removed his breeches, adjusting one muscular thigh at a time.   
He inhaled sharply as he felt her grip on him and knelt back on his haunches to enable her to continue stroking his thick shaft with both of her hands now.

She was staring at him, marvelling at his size; noting that her fingertips did not meet together as she gripped low down on his shaft, and that even with her second hand gripping just below the exposed, shining head she could still see a great deal of his engorged length.  
“The last time you saw that, you were very unkind…..do you remember?” Porthos gasped, trying to prevent himself from thrusting into her twisting grip.  
Jeanne dragged her eyes up from his cock to meet his seductively dark gaze and nodded, pouting her full lips provocatively, and feeling a slight pulsing twitch to the hardness in her hands.  
“Let me show you how sorry I am,” she purred, running the tip of her tongue across her upper lip before ghosting her palm across the hyper sensitive, leaking slit of his penis.  
“You can kiss it better,” he murmured as he positioned himself above her, taking his weight on his muscular arms, “But not with these lips,” and he licked across her mouth before delivering a deep, passion fuelled kiss which Jeanne responded to vigorously.

She released her hands from him and instead wrapped them around as much of his torso and back as she could manage, marvelling at the ripples of his muscles, the tapering of his shoulders to his waist and the myriad of scars and old wounds which gave an added dimension and interest to the otherwise smooth skin of his back and shoulders.  
Her fingers ran across his buttocks, and she gloried him how he twitched and bucked slightly against her.  
His cock was solid against her hip and he was moving it against her silky body deliberately.

Porthos shifted his weight to one side so that he could move one hand down, firmly cupping under her arse and lifting her thigh up and back, opening her to him.  
“Yes…..Porthos…..YES!” she nodded, as he maneuvered his hips so that the firm, wide head of his cock was pressing against her needy opening.  
He adjusted his grip to press her lower back up as he moved his hips forwards, releasing a hiss of pleasure as he sank slowly and deeply inside her.

Jeanne felt stretched in the nicest possible way; she was so ready for him, and he had angled her so perfectly that when he paused halfway inside her to allow her to adjust she shook her head and pushed her hand against his arse, digging her nails into the firm flesh, easing him further and further until his hips were flush with hers.  
Porthos stilled, as much to regain some control of himself; he could have thrust a couple of times and released, but he wanted to try to make this last; at least until Jeanne was satisfied – he fucked whores without care for their needs, but when he made love to a woman he considered them before himself!

Jeanne looked amazing beneath him.   
Somehow she looked smaller, more delicate and more feminine; it may have been her hair splayed out around her like a blanket of gold, or her pert but full breasts, but she looked glorious, and although he couldn’t hear a noise, he saw that her lips were moving and repeating the words ‘Oh Porthos, Porthos…..yes, Porthos’.  
He pushed back on his arms and slid a hand under the nape of her arching back, pulling her deliciously soft breasts closer to his mouth.  
He licked out teasingly before latching onto her nipple, sucking it firmly and laving against the hard pearl with his tongue.  
He moaned as he felt her hips bucking against him, matching the rhythm of his tongue in a circular, thrusting motion against his hips.  
He paused briefly to glance down and hissed again at the sight of her pale, creamy skin and fair mound mingling with the darkness of his own hair and swarthy skin.   
He withdrew slightly in order to watch himself slide back within her wide, welcoming center, an almost obscene wet noise generated from a mixture of her juices and their sweat.

Porthos had never felt this aroused in his life; the sight of Jeanne writhing beneath him, of giving herself over to him so fully and moving so powerfully against him was incredible, and he bit his lip to stifle an almost shout; much needed to remind himself to remain in control, that this was real.  
The muffled sound, seemed to reach somewhere deep within Jeanne and she wrapped the leg which was hitched up high around his waist and back, his arm now supporting her supple back to enable him to drive himself in and out of her tight, delicious cunt.  
He found a powerful rhythm, a mixture of languid, long withdrawls and hard, thrusting drives into her, and began to realise his movements were becoming less regular after a short while.  
Jeanne was clinging to him and matching every thrust and movement, finding the sensation of her clit pressing against the firm, curled hairs at the base of his shaft almost too much.

With a stifled groan and graceful strength Porthos flipped them so that he was beneath Jeanne.   
The new position caused him to move even further inside her and she could now rub purposefully against his lower belly as she thrust repeatedly and desperately, feeling her orgasm building to delicious heights.  
Porthos growled at the sight of her breasts rippling in time with their pounding hips, and he moved one of the hands which was anchoring her onto him around to circle against her clit, hidden within her golden thatch.

He watched as her eyes glazed into his and her jaw went slack.   
He felt her pistonning hips become more sporadic and less controlled.   
With a few more deep, angled thrusts she was screaming silently to the sky, her neck melting on her shoulders and panting out her quivering orgasm.  
She grabbed a handful of her own hair and dragged it up in a loose style, still eeking out the ripples of pleasure flooding her.   
The sight and feel of her clenching around him sent Porthos plummeting into ecstasy and he grabbed her hips roughly, pounding up several times before shooting his copious, hot release deep within her.

She collapsed forwards onto him, both unable to breathe or make coherent sounds for several minutes.

“God, I’ve wanted you for so long!” he breathed, eventually, one arm draping itself heavily across her back, the other, removing hair from his face and tucking it away from her own eyes and mouth.  
Jeanne simply made a happy grunting sound against his chest, still unable to form words, but a smile of rapturous delight plastered across her face.

Porthos slid his softening cock from her, a flood of his salty juices following and leaking across his belly where she still lay, draped and satiated.  
After more time, she wriggled up and gazed into his shining, jet-like eyes,  
“Can we do that every night?” she asked, cheekily, but with a slight flash of doubt behind her eyes.  
“I didn’t do that because I’ve had too much to drink, if that’s what you mean?” Porthos answered, stroking her face gently, “I want to do this every night…and every morning….and every afternoon….” And he wrestled her over, punctuating his words with wet kisses across her neck, shoulders, breasts and belly.  
Jeanne giggled, then groaned as more of his cum oozed out of her and onto the linen sheet of the bed.  
“Alright…..but can we sleep for now?” she asked.  
But Porthos wrinkled his nose and shook his head, dragging her hand down to find him already stiffening again.   
Jeanne giggled in sexy, girlish delight and crawled down the bed, raking her nails across his chest.  
"Kiss it better properly now!" Porthos growled, and thrust his head back into the pillow as her perfect mouth engulfed him and her pink tongue teased his leaking, salty slit.

Outside in the courtyard Athos was finally stumbling to his quarters having drunk considerably more wine after Aramis and the others had left him.  
He heard creeking and the stifled moans of Porthos and winced as the sound of Jeanne clearly cumming met his ears and floated off into the otherwise silent night sky.

He’d lost her…….but perhaps she was right……she was never his to have in the first place.


	26. I'll be back in the blink of an eye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but this isn't a happy chapter. I sobbed writing it for several reasons.....but it is probably a realistic outcome of her bed hopping activities!  
> I am bringing this story to a close over the next few chapters, then there will be a sort of leap forwards epilogue - but a choice of 2.

Porthos and Jeanne did not hide their relationship, and over the next weeks developed a deeper, more profound love for each other.  
Porthos said the words first, Jeanne had sighed and said it back and both had said it again and again since.  
They loved each other.   
Jeanne felt happy, safe, complete and totally loved when she was with Porthos.   
He gave her freedom and control, and companionship.   
They laughed as well as loved and could never manage to be completely angry with the other.  
Porthos had never felt such an overwhelming adoration for another.   
Jeanne made him a better person; a better musketeer!   
He had more patience, more focus and was in better shape than he’d ever been after 6 continuous weeks of incredibly thorough and passionate love making.

 

Jeanne was in the garrison kitchens with Constance, chopping vegetables for a massive pot of stew.  
“You and Porthos seem very serious about each other. How long have you actually been together then?” Constance asked, adding salt from a large pot into the stew.  
Jeanne sighed dreamily, “A couple of months almost,” and within a split second her expression changed, and the knife fell from her fingers, clattering loudly onto the board.

“What’s the matter?” Constance asked, wiping her hands and crossing to where Jeanne stood, rigid and staring at the wall.  
“No!......No, that can’t be……..NO!” she turned and faced Constance, dropping to the small stool beside her and burying her face in her hands.

“Jeanne, whatever is it?” Constance asked again, thinking back to their conversation. “Oh!!!!! Nearly two months?....are you?....”  
Jeanne looked up and met Constances almost thrilled expression with a mortified one of her own.  
“I think I am,” she mumbled numbly. 

“Porthos will be thrilled!” Constance grinned, but stopped as she saw Jeanne shake her head and gaze back at her with anguish in her eyes.  
“It’s not his, it can't be his,” she muttered, sadly.   
Constance considered for a moment before replying, “But Porthos loves you…..I’m sure it won’t…..”  
She was cut off by Jeanne’s curt and trembling reply, “He can’t know, nobody can know…..he knows who the father really is and it would kill him….he’d never, never be able to accept it.”  
“What are you going to do?” Constance asked softly, rubbing Jeanne’s shoulders.

Jeanne’s mind was whirring.   
She was pregnant, and it must be Athos’s child – she hadn’t had her courses since she’d arrived at the garrison now that she thought about it.  
Porthos would never, NEVER be able to accept her being pregnant by Athos.   
And Athos could NEVER know that he had made her pregnant.  
Because NOBODY could know that Athos had bedded her.

But she loved Porthos. So very much.

“I need to leave,” Jeanne stated firmly and decisively. “Will you help me?” she asked Constance, tears filling both of their eyes.  
Constance didn’t fully understand what had occurred and who she was talking about when she said about the father of her unborn child, but she would never demand a confidence, and trusted Jeanne to know her own mind and body.

“I’ll go tomorrow….I need to go quickly I think…..and I won’t be back. Tell them I’ve gone south,” Jeanne stated.  
Constance nodded minimally, knowing full well that this would act as a decoy for wherever Jeanne was heading…if indeed she knew herself.  
“Will you go at night?” Constance asked.  
Jeanne shook her head, “No….I need good light to get as far as I can. I’ll go out as if I’m going about my usual business….can you meet me outside the garrison with my things, if I go and get them?” Jeanne sniffed, tears were leaking from her eyes now, although she wasn’t sobbing.   
It was as if sadness were overflowing within her and had no option but to seep out of her.

Constance again nodded.   
Part of her own tears were for the imminent loss of her friend, part were for Porthos and the pain she knew he would feel….and part of them was for her own empty belly which had never known the joy of life within it, despite many years of love.  
“I’ll do whatever you need me to….but is it really, truly necessary?” she asked.  
Jeanne nodded, “I can’t tell you more…..but if you knew, you’d understand. I have to leave him.”

 

The rest of the day was difficult, but Jeanne busied herself with practical issues – gathering the minimum of her belongings so as not to arouse suspicion, ensuring her horse was well shod and well fed, and that her tack was in good order.   
She packed a saddle bag and managed to carry it across to Constance, hidden in a bundle of fresh laundry.   
Constance kept it hidden in the same manner – the cadets knew better than to get grubby marks on Constance’s clean linens!

 

That evening Jeanne and Porthos ate in the courtyard with the others as usual.   
Jeanne was quieter than usual he noticed, maybe a little flushed, but she smiled warmly at him and seemed to be happily gazing around at everyone seated at the table.

When they went back to ‘their’ room they made love; slowly, passionately, purposefully pleasing each other and finishing by cumming together perfectly and sweetly.  
Porthos lay beside Jeanne on the pillow and stared at her, thinking that her eyes were even more sparkling than usual.  
“I love you, Jeanne. You make me so happy,” he whispered.  
In response, she gathered his head into her chest and kissed his hair, “I love you, I’ll never stop,” she mumbled, and the tears slowly but steadily trailing across her cheeks were absorbed into the thick, luscious black curls.

They slept.

 

When they woke, they kissed deeply, warmly and with practised ease.   
Their ardour still took little to reach a peak, and after just a few shared kisses they came together again, loving each other with frenzied passion and desire; their limbs entwined as if made to fit together.  
It was perfect. 

Porthos got out of bed first, washed and dressed as he always did and gave Jeanne a quick kiss on her nose before going out for breakfast and to hear if he had musketeer business to attend to.

Jeanne tried not to focus on the fact that today would be the last day she would do this; her little routine in her little shared room with Porthos.   
She had no idea where she would sleep tonight; she just knew it could not be here. 

She had not intended to, but on a whim she took the linen cover from the pillow Porthos used and wrapped it around her chest, beneath her shirt.  
Once dressed she went out and ate breakfast, sat next to Porthos, his fingers grazing hers and her thigh as she ate.

As per their plan Constance came across to the table, she tried to make her voice as normal as possible, but purposefully didn’t make eye contact with Jeanne for fear of giving away her sadness:  
“Jeanne, will you ride over to Monsieur Coudrat’s and collect some linens for me?”  
Jeanne replied, again, not meeting Constance’s eyes, “Of course, I’ll go now if you like,” her eyes flicked to meet Constances' at the final second and they both saw the same, pained emptiness behind each other’s expression.  
“Yes, “ Constance turned and headed to the garrison kitchen. 

Nobody observed her slipping out of the main gates with the saddle bag hidden in a sack…..to anyone’s gaze she was fetching bread, or throwing out rubbish.

Jeanne saddled her horse and trailed her fingers across the walls of the stables lightly.   
She’d found warmth, shelter and happiness here.   
She thought back to fighting Athos down the stairs from his quarters, tricking Porthos in the communal baths, the many nights of exquisite passion she had known here….it was time for it all to end.

She walked beside the horse, Porthos rose from the bench and strode across, halting her before she could mount up:  
“Don’t be too long…..I’ve got a day of leisure ahead of me….thought you could stop me from getting bored!” he grinned.  
One of his perfect, Porthos grins.   
She sighed and tried to memorise it.

“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye,” she stated and kissed him.

He hoisted her into the saddle and pursed his lips in a final kiss, blown to her above him before she urged on her horse and clattered out of the yard.

From his position on his porch, Athos watched Porthos as she left. He followed her with his eyes and observed as Porthos looked around to catch sight of her several times before she turned and was out of sight.


	27. She has gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne leaves Paris and starts a new life.  
> We then have a bit of a leap forwards in time....

Outside Jeanne pulled her horse to a stop beside Constance.   
She took the hidden saddle bag and somehow, through eyes fuzzy with tears, attached it across the sadlle.  
She was about to leave when Constance grasped her hand and squeezed it tightly,  
“I’ve gone south, remember?!” Jeanne sobbed, tears freely flowing across her cheeks.  
Constance nodded, “Good luck Jeanne….I’ll think of you often.”  
And Jeanne spurred on the horse and was off, heading who knows where….but certainly not south.

Constance returned to the garrison knowing that she needed to maintain normality if she was going to help Jeanne.   
She didn’t understand exactly why she needed to go and why she needed Porthos to think she’d gone a different way so as not to follow and find her….but she trusted Jeanne had a valid reason and wanted to help her friend – Lord knows, she needed help right now.

 

It was much later in the day when Porthos sought out Constance, a frustrated and baffled look on his face:  
“Is Jeanne back?” he asked.  
Constance shook her head honestly, “No, I haven’t seen her since she left.”  
“I’ll go fetch her I think….Monsieur Coudrat’s was it?" he asked and returned Constance's brief nod.

A while later Constance heard the clattering of hooves and Porthos’ deep baritone shouting for her:  
“CONSTANCE! What’s going on?” he demanded. “Monsieur Coudrat has seen nothing of her and has no orders for the garrison!”  
Constance blushed, she couldn’t prevent it.

D’Artagnan arrived, wondering why Porthos was raising his voice in such a manner to his wife.  
“Go to your room…..please, go and look,” Constance urged, and Porthos turned abruptly, pushing D’Artagnan out of the way in his haste.  
“What’s going on?” he asked his wife.   
She shook her head and grimaced, then walked after Porthos.

She found him in his room, glancing at the empty spaces where some of Jeanne’s possessions had been; at the bare pillow and then at Constance in the doorway.  
He was holding a small written note which simply stated :  
‘I love you, never doubt that. Jeanne’

Porthos looked almost broken, but swiftly changed his mood to anger.   
He grasped Constance by the shoulders:  
“Where has she gone? You know don’t you?” he shouted, ignoring D’Artagnan’s attempts to calm him and release his wife’s shoulders.  
“South…..she’s gone south,” Constance barely got out, before he barged through and sprinted for the stables.  
D’Artagnan ran after him after Constance hastily told him, “He won’t catch her…..go with him and bring him back,” she had urged.

Both men hastily gathered items whilst preparing their horses; their weapon belts, hats and water.  
They were clattering out of the garrison in just a few short moments, leaving the rest of the musketeers and cadets staring after their dust.  
“Constance? What’s going on?” Athos’ authoritative voice demanded.  
She sighed and went up the wooden stairs to the Captain’s quarters, Aramis not far behind her.  
“Do you know where Jeanne has gone?” Athos asked in a straight, firm demand.  
Constance shook her head, “No….but she’s gone and she isn’t coming back.”  
Athos looked pained, “Has Porthos done something to upset her?”  
Again Constance shook her head, “No. She loves him…..but she felt she had to leave. She has her reasons and I’m certain they are valid. She hasn’t decided this on a whim.”

 

By the time Porthos and D’Artagnan had ridden through several villages and asked numerous people if they had seen a lone traveller on horseback it was evident that she had not infact travelled this way.  
Porthos was furious.

By the time they reached the garrison it was nightfall, and he jumped from his horse shouting and demanding Constance come out to him.  
It was Aramis who appeared and almost dragged Porthos up to the Captain’s quarters.   
He almost erupted when he saw Constance there alongside Athos.  
“Where is she? You lied! She hasn’t gone south has she?” he thundered, being physically restrained by both Aramis and D’Artagnan.  
It was Athos who spoke, loudly but calmly, “Constance has no idea where Jeanne has gone…..but she has gone Porthos. She told you what Jeanne asked her to tell you,” he winced as he saw his huge friend reduced to a slumped, small man.

 

Jeanne rode until nightfall in a vaguely north east direction away from Paris.   
She came across a barn and spent a relatively comfortable night eating some of the cheese and salami she had brought along, her horse munched on a handful of slightly rotting, windfall apples that she had found en route.  
The following day she made good pace and continued in the same direction, trying to put as much space between her and temptation.   
Porthos seemed so far away….but she needed him to be.

By early nightfall she was approaching a village. There was a large windmill on the outskirts with several barns and a well.  
She took a chance and dismounted, intending to fill her water pouch and move on, however she was interrupted by a kind voice:  
“It’s late young man….oh, I’m sorry,” the faltering voice sounded.  
“I have been riding all day, Sir. I merely wish to refill my water, and possibly use your barn,” Jeanne explained.  
The elderly man saw fear and anguish behind her eyes.  
“I would feel happier if you came into the house, my dear,” his eyes narrowed fractionally, but there was kindness behind them. “My wife would not forgive me if I allowed a young lady to leave at this hour of the night.”  
Jeanne almost sobbed, but managed to control her emotions enough to nod and smile meekly, noticing him warmly crinkle his eyes into a smile at her and guide her towards the main mill house.

She never left that millhouse.

The reason for her abrupt arrival was never discussed, nor was her growing belly and lack of wedding ring or husband.  
Jeanne helped with household tasks until her baby son was born.  
His pale skin, green eyes and crop of dark hair would be a permanent reminder of who his father was.  
The mill owner and his wife had no children of their own and doted upon the baby, who was named Pierre for no other reason than Jeanne liked the name.   
Jeanne assisted more and more in the mill, the owner marvelled at her strength and character; in quieter moments he thought about the babies his wife had lost in the past, and considered how this woman had come into their lives fully grown and so like the daughter he would have reared himself – free spirited, strong in mind and body and yet tender and warm hearted.

____________

Almost twelve years later, the mill owner and his wife were both buried in the grounds surrounding the mill where Jeanne had successfully applied herself and taken over the business of milling flour for the use of several small settlements including the small village it sat on the outskirts of.

Her son was a strong, intelligent boy – rather too obsessed with swords - but he was loyal, and a trusted friend to several of the village lads.

It was early in the Autumn time when Jeanne was busy freeing and waxing the grinding cogs of the mill that Pierre burst in, breathlessly explaining that some soldiers had stopped in the village and wished to have some flour or grain.  
“Soldiers?” Jeanne asked, wiping her still smooth brow and blowing her honey-gold locks from her face where they were sticking due to her exertion.

She was still a stunningly beautiful woman, and despite several offers had never married any of the many men who admired her.  
Pierre’s face was pure youthful excitement staring back at her, nodding,  
“Yes Mama! There are six of them, and they all have swords and muskets and pistols and horses and armour and pauldrons…and…”  
“Yes….yes, Pierre, I know what soldiers are and what they need to perform their duties,” she stifled a wince.  
“…….you told me my father was a soldier……was he like them?” he asked indicating the open casement and the group of leather clad men who had settled and were making camp close to the main village, but close to the mill also.  
Jeanne, inhaled sharply and sobbed, pressing her hand to her mouth as she made out the clearly identifiable physiques of Porthos and Athos amongst the six men.  
Distractedly she replied to Pierre’s nagging questions, “Yes, darling boy…..your father was just like one of them,” and she composed herself as Porthos turned and she saw his beautiful face and waited for the smile which was almost always there in her memory….it didn’t appear on this occasion though.


	28. His father would be very proud of him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne has to avoid the men from her past, but she can't stop her son from engaging with them.

“Shall I tell them they can have some flour, Mama?” Pierre asked, indicating the soldiers he was clearly so desperate to engage with.  
Jeanne nodded. “Yes, they must have a large sack at the least….go and tell them to collect one, they are still too heavy for you,” she waved him off, despite his arguments that he could carry one.

She stood, like the Lady of Shallot, watching cautiously through her open casement, scared to make herself too visible, especially as she saw Piere scampering across to them and speaking with Athos….clearly he was still in charge!  
“Oh God!” she gasped, knowing that her son was addressing his father without either of them being aware.   
Moments later she flinched out of sight of the window as Athos glanced towards the mill and began to make his way across, using that familiar rolling, confident gait of his.

“He can’t know I’m here,” she whispered to any deity that would listen and stood pressed against the cool wall.  
Down on the ground floor of the mill she heard his unmistakable rumbling voice alongside Pierre’s still boyish one.  
“My Mama said you should take one of the large sacks, here.”  
“That is incredibly kind of her. Is your father here? I should thank him also.”  
“I don’t have a father, he died in a war….he was a soldier like you.”  
“Well then, I’m sure he would be very proud of the way you help your mother. Where is she?”  
“She’s up in the grinding wheel, you can call up to her.”  
The voice of Athos became slightly louder, “Madame….I would like to express my thanks for your generosity….your son has been most helpful.”  
Jeanne knew he would expect a response but couldn’t risk him recognising her voice, so she shouted down at the same time as she emptied a sack of grain along the wooden chute to the wheel,  
“I’m glad…..help yourself, Sir.”

Moments later, Athos was presumably satisfied and aware that she was busy, she heard a masculine grunt and when she dared peak through the casement again saw him striding towards the other men a huge sack of grain resting across his shoulder, Pierre scampering along beside him, clearly quizzing him about his weapon which was still attached to his belt. Athos seemed to be smiling at him and answering him in his traditional measured and concise manner.

Porthos took the sack from him and casually transported it to the small cart they had utilised as part of their small camp.   
Pierre was scampering around, as were a few of his little friends from the village, and Porthos ruffled his hair, grasping him in a good natured neck hold, allowing her son to believe he had almost overpowered him, before swinging the boy up in one of his hands and balancing him way above his head.  
The pair looked like they were laughing, she could hear Pierre and his friends squealing happily.  
Jeanne's heart melted slightly in her chest....and her eyes melted slightly in their sockets at the sight.

There was a general celebration atmosphere in the village that evening – it was rare to receive such auspicious visitors as King’s Musketeers and soldiers, and several of the village ladies took their opportunity to display their attributes.  
Jeanne however remained imprisoned within the mill – rather like Rapunzel in her tower – not daring to venture where her heart longed to stray, but which she knew would bring no joy ultimately.   
If she went to him now then the past years in solitude and the pain of leaving him would have been for nought.

Pierre returned late and regaled her with their stories and tales, he said that the Captain had even said he would school him in swordsmanship the following day if there was time.  
Jeanne controlled her breathing, just.   
Athos would be schooling his own son in his craft.   
There was a poetic beauty to that fact, but it was also heart breaking to know that neither her son, or his father would know the deeper relationship and bond.

 

Jeanne woke the next morning and went about her usual business, she tried to complete the jobs outside of the mill building very early, to avoid any unwanted meetings.  
She was however unprepared for the sight of Porthos utilising the stream in order to wash himself.   
He had selected a spot which was partially hidden by a small copse, and he had evidently never quite got around to making braies part of his wardrobe, because he was naked and knee deep in the swirling water when she spied him.  
Her own position was slightly hidden – if he had had a mind to look she would have been visible enough to him, but he was too busily engaged in his own business to bother.   
Jeanne sighed and stared; his body looked as firm, muscular and inviting as always to her.   
She had been celibate since him, and in many ways considered herself to be faithful to his memory…..she would never love another; in truth she didn’t think she had EVER loved another the way she loved the enormous man who was stooping to sweep water across his head and shoulders.   
She couldn’t make out the icy rivulets trailing across his scarred body, but mentally followed their journey down his body as he turned and displayed his pert and dark caramel coloured buttocks to her gaze.

All too soon he was wading towards the bank where he lay in the morning sunshine to dry before pulling on his leather breeches and linen shirt, gathering his discarded studded jerkin in his large hand and ambling off back to join his comrades.

Jeanne took a deep breath and resumed her daily duties….never had the term daily grind been more apt.

Pierre had his breakfast and washed before running off to find the Captain and force him to make good on his promise from the evening before.  
“Don’t bother them!” Jeanne had urged her son, but he was alive behind those green, usually sombre and hooded eyes of his.  
“I shan’t Mama. The Captain said I had to train hard if I wanted to be a superb swordsman, and he said I had to be prepared to ignore all attempts to sway my focus……so I shall do just that in my attempts to get him to teach me!” and he jumped down from the table and scurried off clutching Jeanne’s sword, which had been his these past 2 years since she had observed his skill.   
She had taught him herself and knew that he was as gifted as both his mother and father.

The soldiers were in the process of waking – Porthos and Athos the most awake of the troupe, although Athos had required a dousing from a bucket in order to render his wine induced headache more tolerable.  
Hence, when the young boy almost pounced upon him he grimaced visibly and considered admonishing him to leave them alone.  
However, there was something about the young lad which almost tugged at him inside, as though a small thread were pulling at his ribcage….somewhat like the feeling he had had when D’Artagnan had arrived at the garrison.

“You told me not to be swayed, Sir. You promised me that you would teach me and improve my technique……so I shall not leave until you have done so, Sir,” the young boy faced the older man directly, almost fearlessly, his small chest and shoulders invoking an almost aristocratic pose as he stood waiting further instruction.  
Porthos gave a rumbling, loud laugh and slapped the boy on his shoulders, “He’s certainly got one of the main skills required to be a decent fighter!.......guts and a side order of madness!”

Athos smirked slightly at the lad, “Alright, I see you have a weapon….a rather beautiful one at that…….let’s see what you can do,” and Athos hauled himself up, flexing his neck and shoulders, giving his knees and hips a slight twitch and stretch before fastening on his belt and removing the sword from it’s scabbard.   
“Show me your parries, and try to disarm me,” Athos sniffed, imagining that the young boy would attack him with a range of infantile and unpractised blows.  
He was momentarily taken aback when Pierre assumed a low, wide stance with significant balance and skill already evident in his posture.  
“My word! Someone has already taught you well I should say,” he snarled, with a grin of praise on his lips.

Pierre was desperate to impress the older man; he looked the epitome of a Musketeer in his black leather uniform, with his pauldron and weapons.   
His slightly wrinkled brow and eyes, the tinge of grey at his temples and in his beard gave him an added air of authority and wisdom.

The young boy thought carefully about his actions and swiftly demonstrated a series of purposeful, skilled blows which had Porthos as well as Athos raising their brows, although Athos was able to easily match the blows.  
He didn’t use his full power, but needed to be alert in order to judge where the next parry would come from, and found himself moving across the dusty ground more than he had imagined.

“You’re good!” he hissed, trying to pre-empt the next succession of strokes from the young lad and his silver blade.

Pierre was focussed, remembering everything his mother had taught him, every move he had practised on the straw sack in the barn and every sequence of actions he had tried out in solitude. Now here he was carrying them out with a real, life musketeer – a Captain no less – and the Captain and his enormous friend were looking quite impressed!   
He couldn’t let that affect him though; he knew better than to let his emotions get in the way when using a sword.  
He still hadn’t come even close to unarming Athos, but he had definitely made the older man take notice and start to retaliate properly – he felt the blows becoming stronger, and indeed Athos had begun to ‘test’ the young protégé further, with more powerful blows which pleasingly the young boy was able to defend rather well.  
Porthos and several of the other soldiers had remained fixed on the sight, the young village boy had such an alarmingly similar posture and technique to the Captain….it was uncanny!

The parries continued and both Pierre and Athos had a shimmering glow of sweat to their brows by now, although neither had broken concentration to wipe them.  
“Tell you what…..you’re clearly very talented, let’s abandon the idea of trying to unarm me…..let’s work on that reverse sweep of yours a little. Follow my action precisely if you can,” Athos panted, raising his eyebrows at the excited face of the young lad.

Pierre was thrilled – the admission from the musketeer was tantamount to an admission of defeat; or at the very least a draw – he clearly saw Pierre’s talent and wished to help him to improve.

Athos delivered a series of back handed, reverse strokes, each one demonstrating how to work in closer to the opponent in order to flip the blade around and reach the neck by swirling the blade at the final stroke.  
“Now you!” Athos grunted, readying himself for the boy’s actions.  
Pierre followed the same sequence, as if having memorised it for weeks rather than seen it once, and was able to sweep around and tap his blade against the sternum of the Captain at the end, earning him a wide beaming grin from the older man, one which crinkled the man’s green eyes and showed his teeth.

“You are a talented boy. Who taught you?” Athos asked, ruffling the boys hair and feeling a slightly strange sensation within him….it could be cramp.  
“My Mama taught me. She is really good….she’s so strong, that’s why she can run the mill all by herself!” Pierre stated giddily, thrilled at the attention he was receiving from the musketeer Captain.  
Athos and Pierre glanced in the direction of the mill.  
“Your father doesn’t help her?” Athos asked.  
Pierre shook his head, “My father died…..he was a soldier, like you….he died in a battle….he was brave….he fought for France,” it was an almost rehearsed speech, but always delivered with emotion and feeling. Pierre had always had the fact that his father was someone he would be proud of instilled in him by Jeanne. 

 

Back at the mill, Jeanne was trying to focus on her usual list of jobs for the day, but found herself side tracked by the sight of her son engaged in swordplay with his own father across in the camp area.  
She was also more than side tracked by the sight of Porthos standing watching and laughing along with the other men, roaring and patting the young boy when he was successful in matching Athos’ precision.  
She still loved him.   
She knew she always would and it was taking all of her strength to not sprint into his strong arms and feel his soft lips once more crush against her.  
She flinched back from the casement as her son and Athos looked towards the mill.   
This action was enough to drag her back from her memories and dreams back to reality.   
She had wheat to grind and flour to produce.  
She put the past behind her as she did each day and set to work.

 

Pierre spent a deliriously joyful day alongside the musketeers and other soldiers.   
They allowed him to carry out a range of tasks for them – mundane jobs but he gleefully oiled saddles and harnesses, took a couple of the horses to the forge for shoes and fetched several pails of fresh water throughout the day.  
The soldiers had received a warm welcome and had made themselves at home in the village tavern where the stocks of wine and ale were being slowly, but surely decimated.

By the evening another communal meal was prepared and in the process of being served.   
Jeanne again remained entombed within the mill building, however as the sun was beginning to fade she heard unmistakably masculine voices on the ground floor of the mill.

“Madame? We wish to thank you for your generosity……would you be so good as to join us this evening for some food?” the aristocratic drawl of Athos shouted up.

Shit!   
How could she tactfully avoid their offer?

She purposefully shifted about some of the corn sacks above their heads as she spoke, hoping it would disguise her voice somewhat.  
“That is very kind, Sir…..but I fear I am too busy this evening,” she replied.  
“Surely not too busy to eat?” came the deep, rumbling voice of Porthos.  
Jeanne gasped slightly at the sound of his voice.   
He was standing down in the mill….possibly leaning against something down there. 

She ached for his touch, for his voice again.

“Maybe I’ll join you later,” she called down, at the same time pulling down a clattering weighted chain to mask her voice.  
“Right! Your son’s over with us if you wondered….hope that’s alright!” came Porthos’ voice again.  
Another yank on the chain, “Yes, fine….I hope he isn’t being too annoying.”  
“Not at all, Madame….he’s a delightful boy…..highly skilled with a blade. His father would be very proud of him I’m sure,” came Athos’ deep baritone.

Jeanne couldn’t have replied if she wanted to.   
The comment had made her collapse onto a sack of wheat, a tear trickling from one of her blue-grey eyes.

There was the sound of footsteps and she saw the 2 shady figures make their way back to the noise of the village.  
She hastily clambered down the ladder and inhaled, hoping she would be able to capture something, anything.  
There was the faint aroma of leather, masculine sweat and wine….it took her straight back to the garrison an she felt a familiar surge of moisture between her legs as her olfactory senses flicked into overdrive.  
She’d never be over him.   
But she’d never regret what she did….with either of the two men who had so recently been stood where she was.

 

OK, SO YOU NOW HAVE A CHOICE OF 2 ENDINGS - THE NEXT TWO CHAPTERS ARE 'ENDINGS' WHICH BOTH WORK TO FINISH THIS STORY OFF.  
CHOOSE YOUR OWN, OR TRY BOTH AND DECIDE WHICH ONE YOU PREFER.


	29. ENDING CHOICE 1 - THE POIGNANT ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first ending I thought of, and I actually think is rather romantic in a sad kind of way......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is SAD! Don't say I didn't warn you!!!!

ENDING 1 – THE SAD/POIGNANT/PROBABLY MORE REALISTIC ONE

Obviously Jeanne did not venture from the mill to join the rest of the villagers, and the visitors honestly did not miss her from the enjoyable company, especially given the amount of wine consumed.

Pierre scampered home and snuggled alongside his mother’s warm body, not noticing the damp pillow or her tear stained face as he curled himself into her slender, comforting body.

 

Creaking bodies and grimacing expressions signalled that the visiting soldiers and musketeers were waking.  
Athos had already told then to prepare to depart, although given the amount of wine he had drunk himself the previous evening maybe he had been hasty in his decision.  
They began to prepare their belongings and mounts.   
By mid morning they were saddling up.

Jeanne instructed Pierre to take over one of the smaller sacks of fine milled flour for their journey and she again watched from her position in the mill window as he ran over to them, the sack balanced easily across his back.  
She saw a warm smile from Porthos as he scooped up the sack in one hand and attached it to the back of his own saddle.  
She saw a small flash of his beautiful smile, directed towards Pierre, before a mask of composure and slight sadness once again attached itself to his dark face.

They rode out of the village just before noon.   
Jeanne watched their backs until they were specks in the distance, and whispered “Goodbye,” to the wind and clouds.

And everything got back to normal.

Pierre did eventually leave the small village to train as a soldier…and he rose to the same rank as his father before he met and married a pretty young lady called Louise.   
He came to settle back with his beloved mother, who lived a long and healthy life; her grandchildren gave her happiness in her old age.

She heard of the death of Porthos by chance: one of Pierre’s wife’s brothers came to visit from Paris in the spring of Pierre’s 40th year of birth and conveyed the news as he knew Pierre had known his kindness when he was in uniform himself. 

Jeanne took the news sombrely, and spent a good deal of the day walking around the village.  
She fell asleep that evening with her head resting on a threadbare linen pillowcase which had long since lost the scent of it’s previous owner, with an image of Porthos smiling warmly and holding out his hand to her.

Pierre found her the next morning, she looked beautiful, as if she was smiling and at peace…..which she was at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....OK, it's sad I know......the other choice of ending which follows is a jollier affair.....and it turned out a bit smutty too!


	30. ENDING CHOICE 2 - THE SMUTTY HOLLYWOOD HAPPY ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ....So, this is an alternative ending based on me not wanting everyone who is still reading to want to throttle me!  
>  It is a possibility.....but I still prefer the other one.....but it gave me an opportunity to revisit a bit of Porthos bed action!

ENDING 2 – THE SAPPY HOLLYWOOD VERSION

Jeanne remained inside the mill until Pierre trotted back across to her, yawning at around midnight.  
“Are the soldiers all still drinking?” she asked him, smiling at his sleepy nodding head.  
“I need you to do something for me,” she whispered, conspiratorially.

Moments later, Pierre scampered back across to the village seeking out the largest of the musketeers, the one named Porthos, clasping a linen pillowcase in his hand.  
He followed the instructions given to him by his mother and waited until he was alone, visiting an obliging bush to relieve himself.  
“My mother said to give you this, and tell you to go to where you were bathing,” and he thrust the pillow slip into the man’s hand, running off back to the village and his friends as instructed.

Porthos regarded the piece of fabric in his hands, turning it over and opening it from it’s folded and slightly rumpled state.   
When his slightly fuzzy gaze realised what it was he froze momentarily, but then swiftly raised the item to his nose, inhaling deeply.   
The sob which had been threatening to escape from his throat could be stifled no longer and as he smelled the familiar, never forgotten scent of Jeanne, the only woman he had truly ever loved, he gasped and almost ran in the direction of the stream and copse where he had bathed the previous day.  
He ignored the attentions of two village ladies who attempted to accost him, and also brushed off the grasping, jovial arm of one of his fellow soldier comrades.

 

Jeanne was slightly furious with herself for having given in to her feelings; if she had never seen him again she could have quelled her emotions, but the sight of him in the flesh had worn her down.  
She had instructed Pierre to deliver his message, then join his friends and sleep over with his friend Luc so that he could enjoy the party.   
The fact that this would leave her bed free from his companionship was by the by.

Jeanne had completed as much work as she could focus on for the day, secured the mill wheels and blades and made herself presentable….and yes, she had washed herself thoroughly…..everywhere!  
She had taken her hair out of it’s everyday braid and it hung in soft, fluid waves across her shoulders.   
She had put on a fresh undershirt and pulled the shoulders down, securing her stays on her bodice a little tighter than for everyday toil.   
It looked pleasing and also felt pleasing – to be drawn in and clasped by fabric; it gave her a ‘different’, almost sensual feeling.

She hid in the trees of the copse and waited, the moonlight casting a violet sheen to the slight mist above the stream.  
She had not been waiting long when she heard the rapid feet of a substantial man approaching the space.

Small branches cracked beneath his feet and his hands brushed against the bushes of the copse as he approached the secluded side of the stream where he had enjoyed his morning wash.   
He was still gasping – partially because of the pace of his feet and partially because he knew that fabric, he knew that scent.   
He knew it in his soul.  
Like his second self.

He paused beside the water and glanced around, noting his proximity to the millhouse, realising for the first time that his morning wash could potentially have been less private than he had initially thought.  
Jeanne pressed her lips together as she saw his bulk so close to her.   
She was about to make herself visible to him, feeling slightly shy now that he was almost within touching distance, but she paused watching him.  
He crouched down onto his haunches, breathing deeply, caressing the fabric of the linen pillowcase between his fingers.  
He spoke to the sky and the water in his heart stopping voice:  
“This is something I lost…..something I thought I would never see again…..if this is not what I think it is…….I can’t think about that…….my Jeanne…..please…...”  
His words were garbled, muffled and panted, as though the huge man was overwhelmed with emotions; as indeed he was.

Jeanne brushed the branch from infront of her and stepped forwards into the moonlight, whispering as she did so, “My Porthos.”

The word had scarcely left her mouth than he had stood, twisted and engulfed her in his embrace, lifting her completely off the ground; his face, which felt slightly damp, nestling into her neck.   
His sobs and breathless gasps made his words almost illegible, but Jeanne managed to hear brief words and phrases :  
“….you left…” “……never forgotten you….” “…always believed…” “…missed you in every way….” “…love you so much….”

She had no words herself.   
The warmth and ferocity of his arms around her rendered her speechless.   
His scent surrounding her, the oh, so familiar sensation that he aroused within her flooding through her body.

After the shortest eternity he pulled away from her, dropping to his knees, his eyes moist, narrowed in anguish,   
“You said you’d be back in the blink of an eye…….” his voice trailed off and she almost buckled with the look of pain behind his eyes.  
“Forgive me, my darling…….. forgive me,” Jeanne whispered, engulfing his head in her arms, pressing her lips to each of his soft eyelids and finally hovering her lips above, but not touching his own.

They were sharing the same air, his dark eyes showing confusion, hurt and adoration.   
Jeanne’s gaze flicked between those eyes and the slightly trembling lips below his dark moustache, which at this distance she could see contained a few stray grey hairs.  
“That boy……he’s……..he is, isn’t he? That’s why you left,” he stated.   
It was as if the various cogs and wheels in his brain were slotting into place in the same way that the mill cogs fitted together.

Jeanne nodded,  
“I couldn’t stay……I loved you….I….I still love YOU….but I couldn’t have put either you or Athos in the position you’d have been forced into…..and we’d all have been miserable,” she explained, her arms still languidly stroking his soft curls as he knelt before her.

“….you mean to say you weren’t miserable?” he asked, the flash of pain there again behind those dark, twinkling pupils.

Jeanne dropped her head to one side, “ Of course I was miserable…..but then I had to get on with bringing up my son….and he has made me happy again…..and I thought that small part of my life filled with love and joy was closed off for good….and then you turn up here one day, and all of those feelings came flooding back.”

Porthos was trying to compartmentalise his current emotions, but failing.   
His overwhelming need was to kiss her, to kiss this beautiful, wonderful woman in front of him who looked so strong and independent, and yet looked so much like she needed his lips, his welcome, his love.

And of course she had always had it…….

“…..time to blink again,” he whispered and gently lifted her chin towards his face with the tenderest brush of his finger.

His lips tasted like happiness.   
They tasted like the softest and safest place in the world. 

Her lips were so familiar to him, so soft, so warm, so full of love for him.

His hand snaked around to cup her small skull and hold her to him his other arm slid around her waist as their kiss deepened.  
Jeanne realised she was sobbing slightly and crying freely as her arms splayed around his shoulders, pressing against the expanse of his back as her lips parted to allow his tongue to glide against her own, reacquainting each other with their taste.

“Don’t cry my sweet girl,” he whispered, breaking free from the lips he had missed so much to trail his lips across her salty cheeks.   
He managed to lift himself from the ground, sweeping Jeanne into his arms and pressing her body as close to his own as possible, her feet dangling at least a foot from the ground.  
“God I’ve missed you…….so much,” he growled against her neck, the reverberation of his voice through his barrel chest caused her to squeal slightly into his shoulder.  
He cupped her cheek in his large palm and pulled his face back to meet her gaze, “I get it…….I can see why you had to go….and he can’t ever find out, can he?” he mimicked her slight nod, “But…..he won’t miss me tonight….none of them will……let’s not waste any more time,” he hissed, dragging his teeth along the slender arc of her neck.  
Jeanne sobbed in his arms and smiled as he placed her on the floor and took her hand as she led him along the narrow, familiar path which led to the mill.

They said nothing as they traversed the short distance, only their entwined fingers showed intimacy as they walked in the moonlight, and only a hooting owl saw them enter the mill.

Once across the threshold Porthos’ restraint buckled and he pulled Jeanne to him, his arms clasping her soft body against his own and his lips devouring her mouth, finding her pliant and eager in his arms.  
Jeanne moaned into his insistent mouth, dragging his leather jacket from his shoulders and discarding it on the floor as she pulled him towards her bed chamber on the ground floor of the mill, behind the storage area.  
He freed one of his arms and scooped it beneath her legs, carrying her towards the door she had been indicating and backed it open, revealing the cosy room which was reminiscent of his rooms back at the garrison with it’s stone walls and small, shuttered window.

He placed her body gently onto the mattress of the large bedframe and knelt next to her, his lips never leaving her skin as his hands sought out the ties of her gown.  
“I think I preferred it when you dressed like a man,” he grinned as he fumbled with the narrow laces between his thick fingers.  
Jeanne smiled and sat up slightly, “Let me,” she grinned and deftly removed her stomacher, boots and over skirt as he removed his own boots and began to unfasten his breeches.

Jeanne quickly knelt up on the bed and continued the process, smiling up in the moonlit room as he dragged his shirt over his head.   
She gasped at the sight of his broad, tightly haired chest and swam her hands across the freshly revealed skin, hearing his pleasurable moans as she grazed his hard nipples with her nails before returning to his breeches and sliding them across his smooth, muscular buttocks and allowing his impressive, firm erection to break free.  
She sobbed again and dipped her face to trail the tip of her tongue along it’s length; it felt familiar and new, and delicious.  
Porthos’ neck melted slightly on his shoulders as her tongue and lips caressed his hardness, and he groaned with need when she brought her hand to curl around the base of his shaft.

With remarkable restraint he eased her mouth away and pushed her back onto the mattress, mounting the bedframe himself and lying beside her.  
“I need to see you….all of you…..I’ve dreamed of you,” he almost snarled as his fingers tugged the fastenings of her chemise enabling him to drag it down her shoulders, revealing her still firm and full breasts to him.   
Hungrily he sucked on the rose pink of her nipple enjoying how it stiffened in his mouth.   
He continued to drag the filmy fabric of her under garment down her body with one hand whilst he moved his mouth across to tease her other breast.   
He licked across it, sucking the curve of flesh beneath it whilst his other hand pinched and rolled the other, hard pearl making Jeanne twitch and writhe against him. Her actions made it significantly simpler to remove her chemise and with her as naked as himself he dragged his body down her belly, kissing his way towards the soft triangle of hair between her legs.

“Porthos……I’ve missed you……..it’s been so long,” she sobbed.  
He understood what she was telling him……it had been a long time for him too…..he had not laid with a woman since her….he had dealt with his need for release by himself, or very occasionally with the hand of a paid female….but never anything more. 

“Let me remind you,” he whispered huskily before easing her legs wider to reveal her silken folds.   
He trailed his fingertips across her moist lips, parting them, circling her entrance, dipping the tip of his finger to scoop away some of her leaking juices to spread the slipperiness up to the hidden gem of nerves at the front of her sex.  
Jeanne sobbed and arched on the mattress at his touch.   
He knew her body so well, knew exactly how to make her moan for more, and exactly when to bring her to the height of ecstasy…….and apparently he hadn’t forgotten.

He gazed up and watched as his fingers worked around her, his other hand grasping under her buttocks, almost commanding that she stay for him, stay and take whatever tantalising touch he gave her.  
He inhaled her soft musky scent and couldn’t stop himself lowering his face to lick his tongue across her seam, gripping her more tightly as she bucked up into the sensation.

“I can see you’ve missed me,” he growled, then re positioned himself between her legs and guided her against his mouth, his tongue alternately delivering long, languid licks and small, focussed flicks across and into her sex. His mouth sucked, his teeth gently nibbled and his facial hair rubbed gloriously as he brought her higher and higher.

Porthos felt Jeanne’s hands clawing at his scalp, spurring him on to bring about her release, which he did in spectacular fashion after he pressed one of his thick fingers inside her slickness and stroked her whilst sucking deliciously on her small nub of nerves hidden within her thatch.  
Jeanne had forgotten how good this felt….how good he felt.

He smiled smugly as he crawled his way up her languid body, stroking his fingers across her blissed out cheek and planting soft kisses across her parted, panting lips.  
She could feel his firm, insistent erection against her thigh and much as she’d just been pleasured within an inch of her life, she wanted him; wanted to feel his size stretching and filling her…..the way he used to.

Sobbing slightly as he gently stroked her hair from her slightly damp brow she reached down to curl her palm around his considerable manhood, enjoying watching his dark eyes glaze slightly and his breathing become irregular as she worked her hand up and down his thick cock.  
“And I can see you’ve missed me too!” she giggled, taking delight in squeezing him and rolling her thumb across his leaking slit, using some of his sticky juices to ease her path.  
“God….Jeanne…..let me be with you again…..please let me….” he panted, his intense eyes boring through into Jeanne’s very core.  
She shifted her hand slightly, encouraging Porthos to position himself above her.   
He rubbed his cock against her entrance, spreading some of her slickness and his own sticky fluid over her seam.  
He cupped Jeanne’s buttocks in one hand and eased her thigh back as he entered her, both sharing a growl of delight as he slid within her tight, moist heat. 

Porthos moved his hips and pressed forward again, filling her completely and kissing her rapturously as he felt her hips moving against him and meeting his thrusts in perfect and complete surrender to the pleasure and sensation of sharing their bodies.  
“God, I love you,” Porthos hissed, trailing his lips down the stretched curve of her neck which stretched back against her pillow.  
“I love you…….I truly do…..I can’t be without you again,” Jeanne whispered as she brought her gaze back to his dark, soulful eyes, so filled with passion and need as he moved so perfectly inside her.  
Their bodies found a familiar and perfectly building rhythm together, their breathing matched, their hands pushed and pulled to drive each other on, their enjoyment rising together.

Porthos was moving against a spot deep within Jeanne, causing her jaw to slacken with each thrust, she in turn was pinching and rolling his rock hard nipple between her finger and thumb, recalling with delight how much he enjoyed the action….and the slight degree of pain which accompanied her tugging grip.  
Porthos wanted to absorb Jeanne into his very being.   
He pulled her body as close as he could to his own as her long legs wrapped high around his broad back. 

Years of pent up passion was being played out between their bodies.   
Porthos gripped Jeanne tightly and rolled them both over, sighing and smiling as she straddled him and continued to undulate at her own pace against his firm stomach.  
He lifted his head to suckle at her breasts, glorying at their softness contrasting to the hard, pearl-like nipples he could tug at with his teeth.

Jeanne could feel herself starting to unravel again, this time in a long, drawn out rippling blanket of warmth.   
Porthos could sense it too and eased his mouth away, supporting her with his strong arms as she began to stutter in her movements; her thighs alternately gripping and releasing to find the perfect sensation of her body against his as her orgasm began to uncurl.

Porthos had somehow managed to retain just enough control over himself, but the sight of her letting go and cumming so perfectly, and the tight clenching of her cunt, gripping his shaft was too much and with a shout and her name on his lips he spurted his copious, hot release within her.

He stilled Jeanne and lifted himself up to wrap himself around her, easing out of the warmth of her, a gush of their combined juices following as they held onto each other, sweating and trying to regulate their breathing.

“What did you say? You don’t want to be without me again?” Porthos panted, a rueful smirk on his lips as he stroked Jeanne’s smooth back.  
She whimpered slightly against the bulky muscle of his upper arm.  
“I could exist without you…..before I saw you again,” she explained softly, “Now….I don’t think I can say goodbye to you again.”  
Porthos inhaled deeply and fell back against the mattress, cradling Jeanne against his chest and powerfully beating heart.  
“Then maybe you shouldn’t,” he whispered, nuzzling his lips into the heartbreakingly familiar scent of her hair.  
“But you’re leaving tomorrow for Paris…..and I can’t….I daren’t accompany you,” she sobbed, “Athos can never know……and Pierre can never know…..his father is just there, camped in the village……it would cripple them both!”

Porthos shushed her agitation, his warm arms feeling amazingly safe and secure wrapped around her.  
“Listen……this last campaign was tough…..I’m not getting any younger,” he shrugged.  
“But you are a musketeer! It isn’t something you can just stop!” Jeanne stated.  
Porthos sighed deeply, “I can! If I want to….I can resign my commission whenever I want to…..I just haven’t had a reason to…..not before now.”

“Are you saying you’d like to leave the musketeers and stay here…..in a millhouse….in the middle of nowhere…….raising another man’s child?” Jeanne asked, her head tilting slightly with each statement and wrinkling her brow as Porthos met her expression with a broad grinning gaze.  
“Jeanne…….you’ve openly said you don’t think you can say goodbye to me again….well, I never did say goodbye to you; and quite frankly, I don’t want to start……if that’s alright with you?” he stroked his hands against the softness of her face and kissed her deeply.

And so he didn’t leave. 

Athos thought him hasty in his decision to remain in the village, but his old friend seemed to have conviction to his choice, and so he didn’t try to dissuade him.

Pierre accepted the huge musketeer as a father figure, Jeanne and Porthos remained blissfully happy for the rest of their lives.

Pierre did eventually leave the small village to train as a soldier…and he rose to the same rank as his father before he met and married a pretty young lady called Louise.   
He came to settle back with his beloved mother and Porthos, who made excellent grandparents to his own children in time.


End file.
